Memory Land
by SpiritBearr
Summary: The Enterprise has vanished and they don't have the first blue's clue as to why. Stranded on a planet where the past is a test, it's pretty lucky they're together. Because Jim Kirk is fighting not to loose it, and he needs all the help he can get.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: Memory Land**

**Rating: PG-13 to be safe.**

**Summary: The _Enterprise _has vanished and they don't have the first blue's clue as to why. Stranded on a planet where the past and the future met in dreams, it's pretty lucky they're together. Because Jim Kirk is starting to loose it, and without his friends to hold him together, probably would have by now.**

**Disclaimers: Star Trek is not mine, unfortunately. **

**Notes: Hoping I'm keeping McCoy in character throughout this mess; short stories with him are easier then longer works like this, as this is the first time I've tried. Same with Spock and Jim. Let me know how I'm doin' guys! Of course, I'd appreciate general reviews, too. ^_^ I want this story to be as emotional as some of those old episodes could be. I want interest in the starting chapters and emotion in the later ones. Tell me if I've gotten what I want. Ya'll are awesome, kiddies.  
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It was not an unusual day at first, but it would turn into one hell- one _hell_- of a week.

Our job was pretty simple; we were supposed to check in on a newly formed colony. Make sure there were no unexpected dangers; everyone was playing nice, routine medical checks for everyone on my part, to ensure no one was going to start dropping dead and there were no medical oddities. (Like perpetual happiness, which I have come to be very wary of, thank you very much.)

Just generally make sure things were running _smoothly_. The colony had been settled for a year now, so if anything was going to go wrong, I guess they figured a year was enough time to let it go wrong without getting out of control.

That's wrong, by the way. The number of times we have walked into a situation that was not supposed to be as out of control as it would up being is getting downright out of hand.

But we, apparently, do not learn. _Ever_.

And so, like cows to slaughter, we beamed onto the planet unsuspectingly. Spock, Jim and I were all that came down at first; we didn't assume we would be on the planet more then a couple hours, or that we needed more then the three of us. Routine mission, routine stop, there _shouldn't have been a problem_.

But there was, and what a problem. I found myself glad we hadn't dragged anyone else into the nightmarish hell we-

But I'm jumping ahead of myself. Let me start where I should- at the very beginning, before things started going to hell in a hand basket….

* * *

"Well, it's….quaint."

"Quaint?" Jim looks at me, lopsided smirk on his face and eyes sparkling. "It that a nice way of saying 'backwater?'"

"Jim, we're standing on a planet so far from earth I can't even _dream_ of being home. Nothing out here could be described as 'backwater'."

He snorts, starting to walk purposely towards the cluster of homes and shops we can just see in the distance. "I beg to differ." He mutters, and I smirk.

"Why, Jim, you snob."

He chuckles softly, glances to his left. "And what do you think, Mr. Spock?"

Spock slants him a glance, doesn't change expression. Of course he doesn't change expression. Sometimes I think he paints his face on in the mornings.

"For only having been here a year, Captain, it is actually doing quite well."

Jim sighs and faces front again; I snicker. "That," I say, "is what you get trying to get a Vulcan on your side."

Spock is the master of pretending to ignore us. He fiddles with his tricorder, dark eyes locked on what he's doing, pretending he can't hear us.

He can, and in his own way, he's teasing back. Pain in the ass half-breed likes bickering at me just as much as I like bickering at him, he just won't ever admit it. There is an easy, comfortable silence for the rest of the walk, Spock involved in what he's doing, Jim and I lost in thought. It's nice, hearing Jim laugh and joke; he doesn't get to do it nearly often enough. Jim is a brash, impulsive person who tends to prefer _action_ over _words_, but he is, at the same time, incredibly empathetic. He is even, I've noticed, downright poetic. The stress of his responsibility, the constant danger, the deaths, the high, roller-coaster emotions occasionally gets him- there's no better way to put it- _strung out_, and Jim is the kind of person who will wear through until he snaps. That's not to say he can't handle his position- I can't think of a person who's better suited for it. But he is still just a _person_. I think he forgets that, sometimes.

So I am always glad when he is able to laugh and tease and I was hoping, _hoping_, this really would be an easy day, full of happy, healthy people and laughter.

I should know better by now.

It's Spock that notices it, first. He stops mid-step and nearly falters, but he's too damned graceful to do that for real. It turns into a back step that brings him directly behind me. His head tips, like a dog, listening.

"Spock?..." Jim quarries softly, half-turning. His face is relaxed, but I know him well enough to read the way his shoulders tense, gathering with tension, energy, like something waiting to explode. He's stepped from friend to Captain, and gone straight into protective mode.

"Captain, I-"

And then we hear it, too.

Screaming.

Female screaming.

Sometimes, Spock, Jim and I are at each other's throats like savage dogs. Clashing personalities, clashing mentalities, perfectly molded to each other but so utterly unalike. And sometimes, in an emergency, I'm stunned by how perfectly in sync we react. We spin and are running at the same time, almost in step with each other. Through the colony where people scatter like bugs, and I wonder _why_ no one else is moving towards the noise. Possibly, they know exactly why she's screaming, and-

-a hand clamps around my upper arm.

Momentum carries me for a second, and I use it to swing around and wrench my arm free of the hold. I'm not the solider Jim is, but I'm not helpless, either. Far from it; just because I prefer to _heal_ people rather then _break_ them doesn't mean a thing.

"No! Please!"

Jim has stopped now, too, and Spock; other men have come out from surrounding buildings, circling us, and we all just kind of pause, unsure which way to jump. The uncertainty makes those Jim even twitchier; he doesn't like mysteries, he's said it himself. (Personally, I think this is half a lie; he seems to have as much fun figuring them out as Spock, who _loves_ mysteries, does. And Spock will never admit to having fun, stubborn space elf-he is, but he very clearly enjoys pushing himself. The harder a situation, the more he sinks his teeth in.) He's stiff and uncomfortable and he will be until he gets the answers he's about to start demanding. Jim is many things; a diplomat is not always one.

The man that had grabbed me is backing away, hands raised. "Please." He says again quietly, lowering them when he realizes we're not going to pounce. He's a disturbingly tall man, easily topping six foot by more then a few inches, built stocky and thick. If he'd really wanted to stop me, he could have done it without trying. He could have snapped my damn _arm_ without trying, really. His hair is a shaggy mane around his shoulders, clean and amazingly black; it's his _eyes_ that get me, though.

The men and women who came to this place one year ago were human. Completely human in every way, not a single alien gene among them.

Yet this man's eyes have no pupil and are liquid silver. We've seen similar, once- I hardly remember it but I _know_ Jim will. Mitchell. Gary Mitchell. His eyes had gone like this before he'd…. died. But his eyes had flashed with a range of reflected color; these are pure silver.

Still, I can feel Jim trembling as he moves up beside me. You can't see it, there's no sign of it on his face, but I can feel it. That was just one of many incidents Jim blames himself for; one of many deaths the man wears like a jacket. I swear, I think he _likes_ tormenting himself over it- part of that be-damned martyr complex.

The scream tears through the air again, a woman screaming frantically, as if being ripped apart, slaughtered. It races down my spine, sending a chill through me I will not show. Already a part of me is there, racing there, while she's still alive.

"-She's being slaughtered out there." Tight, fierce anger, locked behind his teeth, Jim speaks my thoughts. Jim turns to run again, and again this man dives forward, this time for him. He shoves past me, knocking me back into Spock.

"No, you _can't_!" He yells. "Please, she must do this alone!"

"She sounds like she's being murdered!" Jim growls, batting his touch away.

"Not murdered." The man is pale and sweating, I notice. I step forward, coming up behind him and reaching for his elbow. He jerks away from me, staggers. You can tell when someone is panicked. You learn to tell. But my own gut is twisting with fear at the thought of an illness making it's way through this colony, causing this behavior. "It's ritual- she can't-"

Oh, Lord, we've staggered into another one of _these_. And if my understanding of my companions is correct-

"What sort of _ritual_ involves the torture of a woman?"

And there's Jim, right on cue. Not that I'm arguing with it.

"She _must_ do this. She will not die, I promise you." He staggers again and this time I grab his arm, hard, spin him around to face me. He struggles against my hold but I force him still.

I hear the rest, don't see it. I'm too busy forcing my new friend down onto a rock in a sit. "Be still." I snarl, even as I let Jim's voice filter through the back of my mind. I learned a long time ago how to focus on two or more things at once; how to devote full attention to both.

"She sounds like she's dying!" Jim snarls, and another man, presumably one of the others that approached, answers him.

"She is facing what she is, nothing more." He says, his voice low and husky. "It will not kill her, perhaps only drive her mad."

"Oh, is that all?" I mutter. I'm forced to smack the man's hands down a forth time, and feel my back stiffening and a headache blooming between my eyes. You'd think I was killing him, the way he keeps fighting me, and I have very little patience for people who fight me in this.

"Knock it off or I'll get Spock to hold you down." I growl at him. There is absolutely nothing strange that I can find in or on the man's body, nothing but those damn eerie eyes. And even they don't seem to have anything abnormal about them, not that I can here, like this.

The screaming has stopped. I sit up- nothing else I can do, there's nothing _to _do, so far as my readings tell me. I stand, take quick stock of what I let my brain fuzz out moments ago.

"-something that happens to _everyone_ new to the planet." One of the men is saying, the one that promised us the woman was not being killed. He's big, too, just like his companion, built the same way. "It's not deadly, it's just that some can't handle it-"

"Perhaps," Spock speaks up at last, "you should begin from the _beginning_, sir."

I slant my gaze to him. Rarely am I ever _grateful_ to have Spock with us on these little sojourns, but every so often it's nice to have a voice of reason I _know _Jim will listen to. Sure enough, Spock's presence, his calm, unruffled voice seems to gently ease the tension out of Jim's shoulders, like a dog relaxing at the voice of a trusted partner. Strange to see that, when it's Jim that's the captain; but he does it with both of us. He's confident without us. He's _more_ confident with us.

"That is a-very good idea." The man I was examining speaks up. "Asher, would you go find Sparrow? See if she's…..make sure-"

A slightly smaller model- it makes me take an involuntary breath of relief to see that they _don't_ all look the exact same. This one is pale, with strawberry red hair and expressive eyes that are _that same all over gray_. I can't understand it, but I have the feeling I'm going to weather I want to or not.

"Of course," The little redhead whispers, slipping out of the crowd.

The man I had been studying stands, holding up his hand to Jim. "That woman is my wife." He says gently, slowly. "If it wanted to kill her, do you think I'd just stand here and listen to that?"

"I don't know what you would do." Jim replies slowly, but the aggression is gone from his voice.

"She is my _wife_."

Jim snorts, the sound muted but there. "That does not always mean a thing."

As I said, many things, not always a diplomat. I stick an elbow in his ribs as he moves past me, feeling the growl in the back of my throat. _Do you always have to lift everyone's hackles you meet, Jim? _

We are gathered in the middle of the group- the more I look around, the more I'm relived to note that aside from the strange eyes, they have a wide variety of appearance. It makes me slightly less edgy, but there's still something incredibly _not right_ here. They seemed more afraid we'd interfere rather then afraid of whatever was causing that poor girl to shriek like that.

My spine ripples at the memory of it. Such agony in those cries, like a dying animal.

I suddenly believe that she hadn't been killed.

I believe something much worse happened.


	2. Chapter 2

We are brought into a small, slightly cramped tent like home where this man- named, we find, Jamie- and his Sparrow apparently live. It's about a rustic as they come now a days, not much more then basic living quarters, but it's _plush_, that's the strange thing; pillows and chairs everywhere in that tiny little home. We are invited to make ourselves comfortable. Not a single one of us twitches. Jim is in the lead, standing stiff and vibrating with his hand on the back of a chair- Spock is, as he always is, at the man's right hand shoulder. I'm just slightly behind them, on Jim's other side, and there is something oddly and inherently _right_ about it. As if we were born to be standing where we are.

The man sighs when we make no move to sit down. "Can I at least get you a drink?"

We stare.

"Something to eat, then?"

We stare.

This guy is only digging his grave deeper, and it doesn't take intimate knowledge of Jim to see that on our Captain's face. Jim does not like being made to wait or being jerked around. None of us like the latter, honestly, but-

"What we _want_ is to be told what's going on here. Now."

-But Jim is the worst at dealing with the former. Again, I'm not really _arguing_ it. I was just forced to hold my ground and listen to someone cry out in torment. That's not something I'm very good at, and there'd better be a _damn_ good reason why.

Jamie sighs, running a hand through his black, shaggy hair. Something else I picked up when I was examining him, however briefly; not only was he _not sick_, he was very healthy. _Very_ healthy. The worst I had picked up on were old wounds; minor things, long healed and only leaving scars. But even _looking_ at him you could see it; I had the sneaking suspicion I would find everyone with those eyes to be the same.

I wonder how many I'll find to be utterly mad.

He turns at last, extending his hands in the well-known gesture of helplessness. "When we came here a year ago, it seemed- perfect. Normal, even." He says slowly, haltingly. "Perfect for growing crops, raising livestock, peaceful and safe. Nothing out of the ordinary started happening until we'd gotten settled in and started making a life here. That's when the-the dreams started."

"Dreams?" Spock, his eyebrow thoroughly up. Any higher and it's going to vanish into his hairline. At least he hasn't said-

"Fascinating."

-never mind. I roll my eyes skyward and groan softly. Jim slants me a look that reads _behave_, and I send him an innocent glance back. I hadn't said a word.

"And these….dreams….they can't be what caused that woman to scream like that."

Jamie is shaking his head. "No. They start off just as nightmares. Not even bad ones, really; cold sweats, insomnia, but nothing worse then the monster-under-your-bed variety bad dreams we all had as kids. Except the nightmares didn't feature the boogeyman. Not the way you think of it, anyway."

"Boogeyman?" Spock's voice, quiet confusion. Low, addressing me, not Jim, to avoid interrupting more then he needs to. I raise my own eyebrow now; I'd be surprised if the Vulcans had any equivalent.

"Old earth story used to scare children." I say, just as quietly. "Or a generalized word for any 'scary monster' without a specific name." I don't mind explaining when he's genuinely confused. There are far less turns of phrase that he's unfamiliar with then he pretends; faking a misunderstanding is his rather passive-aggressive way of irritating the hell out of people, no matter how much he denies it. But sometimes he honestly has never heard or doesn't get one of our colloquialisms. It's easy to forget our language is not his first language, human mother or no.

"So what kind of dreams?" Jim is asking, and we turn our full attention back.

"Dreams of….of the _past_." Jamie shakes his head once more, not in denial but in the way of a man searching for words. "Of things that had happened, but hadn't happened. Things were _changed_ in those dreams. People were….different…." He trails off, memory in his face, and he's started to pace. "Once someone has the dreams long enough, they either pass or fail the test."

"So that's it, just a bunch of dreams?" I demand, but Jamie makes a low, frustrated noise.

"It's a _test_, don't you see?"

"And if you fail, what?" Jim demands. "You're killed, or go mad?"

"No! It's not malevolent at all!" Jamie lifts his hands, pleading.

"What is _it,_ exactly?" I ask at last. Seems like I'm the only one with the common sense to flat out ask that. Jim and Spock both half-turn to look at me, and I look back flatly.

"We do not know what _it_ is." Jamie says softly, hands twining around each other, nervous, fidgeting. "It seems to be….the planet itself."

I would say _impossible_ here, but the number of times I have thought or said that and been proven dismally wrong are beginning to add up.

"The _planet_ is giving you bad dreams." Jim drawls, and I recognize the combination of amusement and concern on his face.

"Not with the intent to harm." Jamie goes on, sitting in a chair at last. "If you pass the test, you're given the choice for-" He motions at his face, and there's a nearly audible _click_ as pieces start at last falling into place. "We don't get sick, Captain. Injuries heal amazingly quickly. We need to eat less, drink less. As your medical officer will be able to tell you-" He points at me, "or would if he examined us further, our senses and reflexes are much higher."

"I _would_ like to examine them further, Captain." I say quietly, and Jim slants me a look that says he's completely not sure that's a good idea.

"And what if you fail this test, I asked you." He demands.

"Nothing." Jamie shrugs.

"Nothing does not cause a woman to scream hysterically." Spock points out, _logically_.

"Some people can not accept the images they see, the choices they made." Jamie says, and I look, hard, for any trace of sorrow, any pain that his _wife_ was moments ago screaming, his _wife_ might have lost her mind. Too often we've seen people trapped in situations like this, hiding even their fear and pain because they don't want to anger whatever they see as the all knowing power. I see it, though, loud and clear. I don't know if that actually makes me feel _better_.

There is deep sorrow in his eyes.

"But," He goes on, after a moment, "it does not _harm_ you if you fail. You just continue your life as usual, no more dreams, aging as you always would. The only punishment is the one you give yourself."

"And there's no choice?" I ask.

"No. You take the test when you sleep here, like it or not. You pass or fail. Once the test is over, you go about your life, one way…." He motions at himself, "or the other, as I fear Sparrow has."

"Speaking of her, where is Sparrow?" I ask, pushing myself to my feet. "Perhaps there's something I can do for her."

Jamie's gaze snaps to me, dull hope behind his eyes. "I doubt you can, Doctor." He says. "But if there is a chance…..I must take it."

My stomach twists, achingly. I hate this part. Hate it. Second only to death, this is the _worst_ part of my job. When I can't help. When I have to watch people suffer or die and I _can't help_. The shrinking suspicion that I will find the woman and not be able to do anything but keep her quiet tears at me, and Jim sees it in my eyes when he turns to look.

"Go ahead." He says softly, his expression concerned. "But I want to talk to both of you privately when you're done seeing to the girl."

"Follow me." Jamie says to me, and Spock and Jim follow us outside of the home. Jim catches my arm as I pass, his grip hard as steel with the tension in his body. "Quickly." Is all he growls, low near my ear. He doesn't like this any more then I do.

I nod, and he lets go; Spock meets my eyes, and I wish- _damn it_ to hell, I wish I could read him the way Jim seems to be able to. There is something in his gaze that makes me nervous, something I can't place, at the back of my mind. He seems as placid and unflappable as ever, falling into step smoothly behind Jim as the man begins to walk away; but his eyes take too long to slide away from mine.

I feel like I'm trying to figure out what the hell Lassie is trying to tell me. _Timmy fall down the well, boy? _ If he could just for once in his damn life let me, let _us_ know what he's thinking, really _thinking_ under all that logic and repression, my life would be a whole hell of a lot easier.

Well. Maybe.

The place he takes me to is a smaller, sparser version of his own home…..and she's not the only person there. There are beds extending along either wall, and almost every single one has a hysterically weeping person, or someone laying quietly staring into space, or rocking gently, or in a deep, depressed sleep.

This is not the kind of doctor I am. I'm not particularly _good_ at this. I bite my lip, thinking of the _Enterprise_; there _are_ several people who _aren't me_ up there who are trained in psychiatric affairs; it wouldn't take longer then a minute or ten to get them down here. But I don't want to risk it; half the time we get involved in something like this it turns out to be bigger then we ever imagined.

"All these people….they all failed?" I whisper. Forget 'not being able to handle it', forget 'not malevolent'. I can understand certain people having things in their pasts that are enough to drive them mad when twisted, manipulated…..but this _many_? I'm looking at easily twenty, and that's just this building.

There's more, all in a pretty-as-you-please row beside this one.

Jamie nods. "The tests are not easy ones." He says. "This way." He leads me down the rows, to a bed near the back.

"Jamie-" I start, then pause, because he's sitting down and lifting the hand of a girl who must have been _stunning_ once. Her hair is almost platinum blonde, falling in thick, long curls past the edge of the blanket. Her skin is dark, caramel toned, and her eyes are green, dark and rich with her pale hair.

Her eyes are green. And do not see me at all.

"Sparrow." Jamie says softly, stroking his thumb over the back of her hand. "Sparrow, love, can you hear me?"

She doesn't even turn, just stares at something neither of us can- and probably don't want to- see. I approach slowly, cautiously; too fast and I might startle her. "Hello, Sparrow." I say gently, keeping my voice low and soothing. "I'm Doctor McCoy." I take another slow step forward, and it's only long experience that lets me see her tense subtly.

She's aware of me, and I scare her. I back off a step, try again. "Jamie, do you know what 'test' she may have gone through?" I ask, though I already have a disturbing idea.

"That is the strange part, Doctor. As far as I know, there is _nothing_ in her past that should have….have _hurt_ her so badly."

Aw, damn it.

"But you said the past is sometimes warped, in these tests." I say, pushing gently, knowing he's going to make me say it even though I _don't want to_. I'm not the type to beat around the bush or skirt facts, particularly not if someone's life is in the balance.

But this is different.

"Well, yes, but-"

"Did any-" I stop, grit my teeth, _just say it, Bones_ in Jim's voice in my head. "Did she ever- when she was a kid-"

He is staring at me in horror. "Are you suggesting she was _raped_?"

"I'm asking you if you know if anyone did anything inappropriate to her as a child." _Snap_. I turn off the discomfort, the fear and confusion and disgust just like a light bulb. Turn it off and push it to the back of my mind, where it will have to live until I'm ready to face it again. I reach for my tricorder and my medical bag, bringing both around in front with me. I'll probably have to hypo her; she's probably going to start screaming again the minute I get in range.

"I don't-"

_Of course you don't. You wouldn't ask, because people don't ask each other those things. Funny, how she didn't tell you. You'd think she would. _

I don't say these things out loud. I grit my teeth and lock them in my throat. I'm just frustrated and worried, and about to pull a Jim and lash out at anyone close enough. "She's going to scream." I say, and step forward again.

'Scream' does not begin to cover it. She lunges _at_ me, rakes me across one cheek with her nails. I fall back a step with a yelp and cup the wound. Jamie grabs her- "Sparrow, love no!" And I dive in with the hypo after a moment more to recover. He's holding her back by her shoulders, and she twists and writhes like a wildcat under his hold, screeching. Tears are in his eyes, at seeing her like this; he's babbling, a soft stream of nonsense to try and get her to calm down. It doesn't work even half so well as the hypo injected into her arm.

She goes limp and still in his arms, and he cradles her to his chest, weeping openly. Uncomfortable, I back away again, placing a hand on his back.

"Jamie, I'm sorry." I say softly, and I mean it. They'd come here expecting happiness and a chance at forging a new life; instead, they'd encountered a force no one could explain away and now his wife was mad. Driven crazy by demons from her past she hadn't ever even told him she had.

It makes sense, really; if she couldn't face them to tell him out loud, how could she be expected to stand up to them when they were shown to her?

Then I have a thought.

"Jamie, if this test is run by dreams," I ask, "why was she _awake_ and outside the colony?"

"She wasn't awake, Doctor." Jamie's red rimmed, exhausted eyes turn to me. "And that's where they go all, in the last. It brings them there, to determine if they pass or fail."

Talk about _sleepwalking_; I run the tricorder along her unconscious form, grimacing as readings come back that confirm what I thought; she'd been raped, though some time ago. Otherwise, she's in far worse condition then her husband, but perfectly _normal_ human condition.

Aside from the fact that she is now irreparably, irreversibly broken.

I put away my tricorder, lowering my head and putting my hand in it. "There's nothing I can do for her, not when she won't even let me near her." I say. "Let me talk to our Captain. Maybe one of our female crewmembers can-"

My hip starts to beep.

I pull away, grabbing for the communicator; Jamie lays her back gently on her cot, and I watch him stroke her hair, murmuring to her and placing his forehead against hers. I wonder if she'll ever let him touch her like that again awake. I wonder if she'll even know who he is.

Beep, beep. Incessant, demanding, like Jim himself.

"Captain?"

"Bones, get out here." Clipped, harsh words, his voice strained and tight and _something's not right, very not right. _

"Captain-Jim, what happened?"

"I will tell you when you _get out here_." He's about an octave from a yell, voice a hard bark. I know Jim more then well enough to tell he's _scared_. Something has happened to frighten him, and he's reacting with anger, he always does. You can't take Jim to heart when he's like this; he lashes out wildly like a wounded animal and draws blood whenever he can, but is usually apologetic the minute the emotion passes.

"Alright. Alright, I'm coming. Can you be bothered to tell me where you _are_, or do I have to track you with this thing?" _You want to get snarly, Jim, we can get snarly._ Just because I understand why he's doing it doesn't mean I'm going to let him bite without biting in turn. Handling Jim is like handling a temperamental animal; you have to balance respect and gentle handling with sternness and flexibility.

"You'll see us when you come out." And he cuts the connection. I growl with frustration, pushing my way out the door. I _do_ see them right away; Jim and Spock, arguing fiercely- well, Jim is, anyway- with a group of men and women; four of each, two obvious couples and two seemingly unrelated. Spock looks up to see me, and bends gently to speak near Jim's ear. He has to say his name twice, from the looks of it, but he at last looks up, too.

And the look in his eye makes something in me clench painfully. I almost never see that look, that dark, lost expression, the expression that tells me he's going down dark places he's created for himself. My anger is gone in the moment I see him reaching out for me- for _anything-_ with his eyes alone. He's got an incredibly expressive face, expressive eyes- so readable, unless he's trying not to be. I'm one of the few people who he has ever trusted enough to allow to see that look.

"Jim?" I ask, stepping forward again. "_What happened_?"

He shoves past the crowd, Spock right behind, and takes two steps forward.

"She's gone." He whispers. "She's just _gone_, Bones, and all four hundred of them with her."


	3. Chapter 3

"What do you mean, _gone_?" I wish I could snatch the question back the second it comes out; gone means _gone_. Already, though, that desperate searching look is gone from his face- slowly, he's bringing himself under control.

"We attempted to reach the _Enterprise_ while you were tending to the young lady." Spock says, as if sensing that Jim needs a moment. "Not only was there no reply, there was simply nothing, as if the _Enterprise_ did not exist."

This has happened before, once. Kind of.

It had involved an unhealthy amount of drugs, a rather vivid hallucination on my part, a portal on a planet that was capable of transporting you back in time, and an accidental changing of the future. Jim and Spock had been forced to follow me and set things right; which they had done, though at a-great personal cost to Jim. He'd been in love with a beautiful and vibrant girl then; the same woman who had saved my life, the same one that had to die to repair the future. He'd gone three months without his ship, trapped in the past with no way to know if he'd even be able to find me, or do what needed to be done. Still, we'd fixed the past and the future and gotten back to the _Enterprise_ in one piece. She'd been there, waiting for us, crew and ship all intact.

But then, at least, he'd understood what had happened and how to fix it. There hadn't been a guarantee, but in everything we do that can be a risk. Here, now- there was no explanation.

The group he'd been talking to move in closer to us. "We've told your captain." One says, a tall, slender woman with brown hair cut into a bob and the silver, silver eyes. It seems more of them _have_ the silver eyes then don't. More of them have passed then failed, despite the apparently decent amount of failures. "If your ship has gone, it means the planet wants you to take its test, one or all of you."

"A _planet_ can't _want_ anything!" Jim snaps. "It's a _planet_."

"It is highly illogical to assume a planet can have any sort of sentience as a whole." Spock adds. I assume this was the 'private' conversation we were going to have. So much for that little plan, then.

"Is it?" The other woman, much smaller with shoulder length red hair and pretty brown eyes. "We've looked all _over_ this planet for what might be causing the tests; we can't find anyone or anything here but us!"

"Simply because you can not see them does not mean they do not exist." Spock replies- he has to look down to talk to her, which makes me chuckle.

"And just because you've never heard of it doesn't mean this planet can't be the cause of the tests!"

"It is not-"

"I don't care if you think it's _logical_, who are you to say we're wrong?" She folds her arms across her chest, and I grin, finding myself liking her. I'm not entirely sure _why_ she's so upset over it, but her words were just about right out of my own mouth, and anyone that small with that big an attitude earns a little respect, anyway.

Spock, for his part, simply lifts a brow at her. "Doctor McCoy, have you been speaking to these people?" He asks me dryly, eyes lifting to me.

"Mr. Spock, was that a joke?"

"….Of course not, Doctor."

"I don't care if it's the planet or tiny green _men_. I want my ship back." He has a single mindedness of immense proportions when it comes to that ship, and any time he thinks it may be threatened he becomes almost obsessed with getting it back.

Another male steps forward, pulling the smaller girl to his side, protectively. "What Anna says is true, Captain." He says. "If the planet- or whatever you want to think _it_ is- has taken your ship, it is only because you intrigue it."

"I'm glad to know we're so interesting." Jim says, and I'm relived to hear a twinge of amusement in his tone. "But we have no interest in taking any test _or_ in staying here any longer then we must."

"And you _must_ stay here until you pass the test." One of the remaining men in the little group says. "It won't be any longer then a week-"

"A week of a test that might drive us mad with who-knows-what happening to my ship and crew? No."

Jim's voice is as stiff as his body, each word driven from him as if being punched out. He talks quickly when he's angry, like he thinks he can drive the words home by sheer will alone. Sometimes I wonder if he can't. He's in full balk mode, too; push him and he pushes back. Try to force him and he digs in his heels hard. One he hits that point you've lost all chance of getting him to cooperate with any ease.

"Captain, I assure you no harm has come to your ship or your men."

"I'm supposed to just take your word on that, am I?"

"You don't seem to have much choice."

I flinch. Bad choice of words- any remaining openness flows out of Jim like water and the air turns to ice around him.

"Oh, don't I?" He growls, his voice deep and dark, a wounded wolf back into a corner. But the man does not flinch- he instead draws himself up further, his eyes gentle and concerned. The look confuses the hell out of me. It's like he's looking on an old friend who has changed for the worse. Not condescending- just sad, and maybe a little hurt.

"Captain." He says slowly, extending his hands helplessly. "Please. There is no need for that attitude. I assure you, _no harm_ will come to your ship or crew, yourself, or your friends here, with you. While that is true, you will not get that ship back until you- either all three or just one, whichever _it_ chooses- have passed or failed the test. There is nothing you can do to change that. Do you doubt your abilities, your strength, Captain?"

Jim draws up, lips compressed in a thin, hard line. He's angry, but at least he's calmed down enough to be rational about it and he's _thinking_, thank the Lord. Jim is not stupid-he doesn't shoot off at the mouth without considering very often. When he _does_, though, he does it all the way.

"I," He says at last, slow and stiff in the way that means he's holding something back with a very, very tight rein, "don't doubt anything about myself or these men, and should not and do not have to prove it to you."

"Not me, Captain- _it. _Whatever you believe it is, or is not; that is no longer important. I understand your anger, and your fear- yes, your fear- but all you need do is stay here for a week. One week, and you will pass or fail the test. It never lasts longer then that. If you are so confident in the strength of yourself and your companions, then you have _nothing_ to worry about. You will pass, or you will fail; either way, you will be returned to your ship if you choose it. Healthy, normal, whole, sane, safe….and perhaps, a bit wiser for the experience."

"What does that mean?" I ask, head tilted. Now I've got a professional curiosity started in the base of my stomach, an itching to find out what I can about this _thing_ and the people that seem to so respect it. They don't fear it. It drives some men and women mad, but they don't fear it. Maybe it's _not_ violent. Maybe….it's just our own discomfort tainting our view of things. That's human nature- if something makes us feel out of our depth, we start seeing it as suspicious and dangerous.

Or maybe they're all stark raving _space happy_, as Jim puts it.

I just don't know right now.

The man turns his attention on me, silver eyes bright and even amused. "It means that wise men learn from experiences like this one. And you do not seem to be fools."

_Well thanks, I think._

Jim looks at Spock and I in turn, helplessly irritated. He puts his back to the crowd of people, and with Jim, it's like slamming a door in their faces. They have officially ceased to be important at that moment- they may as well not have been standing there. Spock and I are the only two people that he sees or hears right now.

"Well?" He asks softly, voice lowered not to a whisper but a low mutter. It's something we all learned a long time ago. A whisper is louder then simply speaking in a low tone; if you don't want to be overheard, just mutter, don't hiss.

"This planet has various other life forms, Captain." Spock says, "But none of them seem to be humanoid."

"That doesn't necessarily mean anything." Jim says, for the second time today though in different context.

"It's a big planet, Jim." I remind. "We can't traipse around looking for some unknown entity that may or may not exist."

"Indeed. Captain, the logical thing to do is simply take the test." Spock says quietly, as if he doesn't want to say it. "Dangerous, yes. Very dangerous. But we can see for ourselves that not everyone who has taken it has gone insane. It seems to be a simple matter of strength of will and self-security. Even if you or we do not pass, assuming we stay sane we will be free to go."

"Assuming we stay sane." I hear myself grunt. "Well, that's not a big risk at _all_."

"You said it yourself, Bones, we can't search this entire planet looking for who or what ever's trapped us here." Jim growls. He runs a hand over his mouth, lip caught between his teeth in an old thoughtful or nervous habit. He hates being backed into a corner, but we don't seem to have much of a choice.

And when he mets my eyes again, I know what he's going to say before he says it. I can see his reply in the tightness around his eyes, the thin press of his lips. I see it in the way he's fidgeting, the way his breath heaves heavily. He's angry enough to spit nails.

"_Fine_. You want us to take your foolish _test_, prove ourselves to some invisible, omnipresent ghost? If that's what it takes to get my ship and crew back safely. Then _fine_."

And for the first time in my life, I _wish_ Jim would proof his normal, stubborn self. Refuse to give in, refuse to submit, refuse _any _of this.

Because I remember those people, in those beds, and their _eyes_……and I have the sinking feeling that he'll wish he had refused it, by the end.


	4. Chapter 4

Well, it's not like we couldn't stay here and not sleep. So really, we didn't have much of a choice. Still, the hair on the back of my neck won't lie flat, and Jim has fallen into a deep, deep silence that he only ever has when in turmoil. Usually boisterous and playful, commanding and fierce and commanding a deep respect with his sheer presence alone, it's unnerving and frightening when he falls silent like this. Because Jim doesn't just go quiet with his mouth. He does it with his _body_.

We're taken to a third, much larger home; this one is still sparse, still colonial in feel, but with three, separate bedrooms and a side main room. In each there is a bed and the floor is still lined with pillows, a chair in the middle and three or four in the main area.

The woman who had so passionately stood up to Spock earlier is the one who brings us there. She really is a tiny little scrape of a thing, pretty as a picture, with an easy smile and animated body. Her eyes are stunning. Funny; you would think the strange silver eyes of the men and women who passed the test would be what captured you. But all they did was fill me with a sense of dread; her eyes, in contrast, so human, so _normal_, are beautiful and expressive. She's not very old, full of energy, and half-runs in front of us.

And she _won't shut up_.

At first her voice was pleasant, light and airy, without the heavy trace of foreboding the others seemed to have.

"I'm taking you to one of the homes reserved for this process." She says. "Everyone who goes through this process stays in one. They're 'specially set up for the test. Some people- some of 'em get kinda violent during this time. We got straps for them."

I shudder at the cheerful, sing-song little voice so calmly announcing that multiple people in this colony need to be tied down over _dreams_.

"Violent?" Apparently-and thankfully- I wasn't the only one disturbed by that little morsel. Jim almost falter-steps, but saves himself.

"I believe you were told the tests are not easy ones." She turns, looks at us with innocence and a sweetness that is beginning to get to me. "There are chairs, as you can see; if one or more of you doesn't have to take the test, or finishes sooner, they can wait with the others."

"We can be together? It won't….disrupt….anything?" Jim's words falter, unsure. He's out of his depth- we all are.

"Mm-mm!" She says cheerfully, a gentle smile on her lips. Maybe she's not in those buildings, but I'm wondering if she's completely sane. She sure isn't _acting_ like it.

"In fact, lots of time people only pass the tests because of their friends." She turns and gives us a delicate, gentle little smile. "And some, like me, don't go mad when they fail because of them."

I take a breath, closing my eyes for a moment. We've been through things like this before; we can make it through this.

She brings us into the home, through the main room. "Take whichever rooms you like." She tells us gently, stopping in the doorway. "They'll be a guard outside all night for you, in case the test gets too bad. If you need anything, just talk to him, or find one of us. Anyone." She bobs this little bow that looks almost oriental in nature. "You must be hungry."

"Not really." Jim drops into a chair and puts a hand on his forehead. The girl bites her lip, pushing back that mane of red hair. She's older then I thought I see when she does it; it's just her behavior that makes her seem younger.

"And you two?..."

"If you can bring something for us _all_, I'd appreciate it, Mrs?….." I snap, sending a reprimanding glance towards Jim.

"I can." She beams that smile at us. "And my name is Rayn."

_Rayn. _She meets my eyes for a minute, shyly, flirtatiously, and heaven help me, I feel an answering smile on my lips. I bite it back hard when I see Spock eyeing me with a lifted brow. She is pretty and warm, and pretty and warm girls attract men like lights attract fireflies. If the situation was different, Jim very likely would have been flirting openly and badly by now and have her wrapped around his little finger by the end of the week. Yet another girl on yet another planet; I'm surprised he doesn't get a workout through them alone.

She slips out of the building, and the moment she's gone and I can look away I feel like a heel for letting myself get distracted. Gritting my teeth, I cross the room to where Spock is investigating everything with a fine tooth comb and Jim still sits, silent with his whole body yet again.

"Starving yourself isn't going to make this situation any better, Jim." I snarl, my frustration with myself and him converging to make my voice harsher then I want it to be. He looks up at me, his lips curled in a slight smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

"Aren't you always after me to loose weight?"

"By not eating when you're bored and eating better when you _do_, not selective anorexia." I approach his chair and bring a hand to his shoulder. It's something I almost never do, but it's something I wish I _could_ do more. Jim is a contact oriented person-he likes to touch, to _be_ touched. Even now he relaxes under my hand, just subtly.

"I'm not hungry, Bones."

"You will need your strength, Captain." Spock points out quietly, returning to our side. "If these 'tests' are as challenging as this colony is making them seem to be, not eating will only harm you."

"I don't care if I pass or fail, I just want it _done_ and the ship-and crew- _back_."

"I'd rather you be sane when that happens." I bite out, not in the mood for his single-minded stubbornness. There are times when that is good, when it's saved our lives. There are times when I am _absurdly_ grateful for it. Now is _not_ one of those. Now, in fact, I'd like to shake him until some sense penetrates that thick skull of his.

"I wasn't aware eating was going to keep me sane." He snarls priggishly, throwing my touch off. Spock and I lock eyes over his head, in perfect agreement that happens with us so rarely. If Jim is already having problems- and he _is_- what happens when the test gets truly hard?

"You're being belligerent on purpose." I tell him, pulling a chair up alongside. He sends me a dangerous look, a _you're walking the line _look. That's another one I almost never see.

"My ship is gone, my crew is gone, and I don't even know how to start to get them back." He says, low and slow, his voice reminding me of the growl of a predator. "Aside from taking a test that might very well drive me mad. Ex_cuse_ me if I'm being _belligerent_." His voice rises dangerously on the last word, almost a yell. He chokes it down, takes a breath.

I wait for it.

One beat. Two.

"Sorry. Sorry."

Right on cue, a low, muttered apology. His eyes are on the floor now, and his hand over his mouth.

He's gone past anger.

My captain, my _friend_, is scared. And so am I.

Night falls far too quickly, considering what we have to look forward to. Rayne brings us dinner- which Jim does not eat, despite or maybe because of our conversation earlier, the stubborn, stupid fool. She tells us again about the guards, but she doesn't make it sound like a threat. Honestly, they are _only there_ to make sure we don't wind up killing ourselves in the middle of the night.

"You're free to go anywhere you like!" She chirrups, as she drops off pillows and blankets for us, handing us each a bundle. "Just let the gaurds make certain you're really awake before you go out."

She smiles up at me, her eyes bright and sweet, and I smile back again, reaching out to brush a strand of red hair out of her face. She blushes and ducks her head once more, and I find myself reaching out to catch her chin gently.

"Thank you, Rayne." I tell her softly, and she grins, shifting a little closer to me, long lashes brushing her cheekbones. Lord, she's _lovely_, and-

-Spock coughs softly, the spell is broken. I feel a surge of irritation but again it's at myself as much as him. I shouldn't be doing this. I shouldn't be worried about a girl with pretty blue eyes and red hair when my Captain, my best friend, is teetering on the edge of something deep and dark.

Jim is good at hiding his shadows. He's good at masking his insecurity, his fear, the way certain things he'd seen and done have affected him. I've only seen him break a few times in the whole time I've known him. It hurts every time- it hurts both of us, _all_ of us, even though Spock does not show it. Doesn't show it the way _we_ might, anyway. Just like you learn to read Jim, you eventually learn to read Spock.

And right now, he's as worried as we are. _Worry is a human emotion_, he would say, _I do not feel anxiety_, and this is the appropriate place to simply say _bullshit, Spock._ He's just as concerned as I am; he's just as much Jim's friend as I am. Sometimes, I wonder if he's not _more_ Jim's friend, in some ways. There are days-moments- when I feel a spike of jealousy when I see them together….when they, for some nonsensical reason, leave me feeling like a third wheel. I know I'm not, to either of them. And I don't feel that way often, or deeply, but sometimes…..sometimes I realize it's hard to share.

She grins at me again and says her goodnights. Jim is looking at me with a wry grin, and I'm….relived to see it. Since coming to this planet, I haven't seen that smile, and I've damn well missed it. If flirting with Rayne pulls him back from that dark place, I'm all too happy- _all_ too happy- to do so….hell, I'm willing to crash and burn spectacularly if it will get him somewhere around normal again. The later it gets, the deeper the darkness in his eyes gets, hazel turning to nearly brown.

_What is he so scared of? He's dreading….something. He's dreading **something** and he won't tell us what. Damn it, Jim, stop hiding, we're your friends! _

"And you complain to _me_ about having girls at every spaceport, Bones." He drawls, heavy lidded hazel eyes on my face. That's another thing; the later it gets, the heavier his eyelids seem to get. He's staying awake by sheer force of will alone. His words slurr heavily, and his head is propped on his hand. "You're getting as bad as I am."

"Not possible." I tease back, "There's no enough girls left for me to be as bad as you."

Spock is seated in a chair near us, arms folded on the back of it, and raises an eyebrow at both of us.

"You wouldn't understand, Spock." I laugh out, smirking at him. He lowers the eyebrow once more.

"I am very glad I do not." He replies dryly, and I laugh along with Jim because it feels good to laugh. "Captain, perhaps you should rest."

Jim shakes his head, blearily, pressing his fingers into his eyes. "I don't-"

"Now or later, Jim, you'll have to sleep." I say, very gently. "We're right here, whatever happens."

He snaps his gaze to me, head coming up. Red-hot anger, and defensiveness enough to blow anything from the sky. I'm one of his best friends, and he still has a hard time letting me see him as anything other then strong. "I'm not-"

"I know." I say, still gently. "But we're still here."

"Fear is illogical in this situation. It can accomplish nothing but make the test that much more difficult for you." Spock pushes up from the table, crosses the room to Jim and kneels in front of him. "All the same, there is no shame in you, as a human, admitting to it. Jim. And we are still beside you, and will remain so."

_Heaven help you, Spock, sometimes you** can** open that mouth of yours without sticking your leg in. _

Jim, meanwhile, smiles weakly at both of us, nods- and passes out.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Ugh for and it's not letting my HTML come through properly. This looked so much better with my use of small-to-large text near the end, but I adjusted it as much as I could, (without fiddling with the HTML) and I hope the idea still comes across. ^_^ **

_It is dark and it is cold. Too dark, at first, so when he opens his eyes he's not even certain he has. Then they start to adjust- or something-and he can it them….pinpricks of like. Thousands of tiny pinpricks of light, like-stars. Like a thousand stars and him, floating among them. But he is not in space- there's solid under his feet. So he _can't_ be in space. _

_He starts to walk, because there's nothing else to do but walk. It's hard to see if he's getting anywhere, because nothing changes, everything is the same, all over the same. _

_He's utterly alone, and that's something that's new, almost frighteningly new. He's not used to being alone. Someone is supposed to be behind him. Someone…..else….is supposed to be there. One-no, two others, at his right and left. Always there. One is warm and gentle, a comforting, steadying anchor. One is cool and distant, like dunking his head in ice water on an all-too-hot day. But he can't…..can't **remember**….._

_He stops, hand to his head with the sudden ache there. He can't remember, and he needs to. He must. It's important. Why is it important? He must. _

_But it hurts, and he's tired. He just….wants to rest….._

_A pale, soft hand slides across his shoulders. _

_He glances down at it, watches as another hand crosses his other shoulder, and they meet in the middle, across his chest. _

_"Now that, is not the James Kirk I know." A soft purr, close to his ear. A light, female voice that he knows, but he can't place, and when he turns to see she tightens her hold and presses up close to his back. _

_"Now now, peeking isn't very nice." _

_"Who….where?" _

_She makes a low, sympathetic sound in her throat, and caresses his face. "Oh, James." She says. "We're in a nightmare." _

_And suddenly, the entire world explodes. _

_He cries out and throws his hands up, shielding his face from the heat and trying to yank free of the grip. But her fingernails have turned to claws, and they are digging into his chest, through his skin. Digging, ripping, tearing flesh and drawing blood. _

_And she is laughing. Laughing or crying- he can't tell the difference. And the blood on his chest is his-or-hers…..she's bleeding, too, but hers is cold like ice and his is warm, soaking the front of his tunic as it pours from his chest. Digging, digging, as if she's trying to-to- _

_Ripouthisheart. _

_He cries out again and manages to tear himself away, flings himself away. _

_"You let me die!" She is screaming now, a sharp, violent contrast to the gentle, soft tone of before. "You could have saved me and you let me die, you fool, you selfish, stupid fool! I didn't want to die, I didn't want to die, I didn't-I didn't-" Low, wailing weeping and when he turns, memory snaps back with a force that **hurts**. _

_He knows her face. He knows her name. _

**_"I still have a few questions I'd like to ask about you two. Oh, and don't give me that "questions about little old us?" look. You know how out of place you are around here."_**

_Edith. _

**_"Now, I don't pretend to tell you how to find happiness and love, when every day is a struggle to survive. But I do insist that you do survive, because the days and the years ahead are worth living for!" _**

_Edith Keeler._

**_"One day soon, man is going to be able to harness incredible energy -- maybe even the atom. Energy that could ultimately hurl men to other worlds in some sort of spaceship. And the men that reach out into space will find ways to feed the hungry millions of the world, and to cure their diseases. They'll be able to find a way to give each man hope and a common future. And those are the days worth living for."_**

_Beautiful, gentle Edith Keeler, with startling strength and a far-reaching mind. _

**_"I think they're going to take all this money that we spend now on war and death...." _**

**_"And make them spend it on life." _**

_Edith, who he had….._

**_"A lie is a very poor way to say hello."_**

_Edith Keeler, who he had **loved**. _

_He had **loved** her. And he had let her- he hadn't even watched as she had-_

_"Edith. Edith, please, I'm-" _

_"You killed me, you killed me, you killed me, you killed meyoukilledmeyoukilledme-_"

_"No. No!" _

_Her face is half-gone. Half gone, just a skeleton staring out at him from the ravages of a once-stunning woman, her lively, warm eyes now cold and empty, blood running down her cheeks like tears. When she moves, it's disjointed, slumping. One side of her body doesn't move properly. _

_The side the car hit her on._

_ The light of the fire around them flickers in the red liquid, alive, hungry. It wants him the way she does, wants to kill him, destroy him. _

_And he deserves it. _

_No. No, he doesn't, he- she'd- she'd **had** to die. He'd had to- but she- it was-_

_He can't think, damn it all the hell! He can't think straight and it's too hot, so hot. _

_"I had to do it." He whispers, as she backs him further into a corner. "Edith, I had to-" _

_But then, suddenly, she's gone. The flames continue, though, keeping him from escape, keeping anyone else from getting near. _

_He leans on a nonexistent wall, head back and eyes closed as the heat dancing near him. He can feel- something, on the other side. Them. The two. The two he can't- he can't re-remem……_

_"No two, Captain, you're on your own now." _

_A new voice, young. Too young. He doesn't want to look up. He doesn't want to look up because he knows, he **knows** what will be standing there, but he has to look up. He has to look up or remain standing here, hiding forever, and he is many things but none of them are cowardly. _

_He's seen them before. Never this clearly, never like this, but he's seen them. _

_Men. Young men, all of them, and some women, too. They stand before him in a grisly pack, most rotted away more then half of their flesh, but a few did not have enough flesh left to rot away. He does not know most of their names. _

_He doesn't know if it's worse when he does, or doesn't; the ones he did know, the ones he spoke and laughed and talked with-the ones he trusted, liked, respected even. Or the ones he hardly noticed; the ones he'd met once, twice, who had lost their lives without ever having him acknowledge them- the ones he stares at and they stare back with eyes that have no life and- _

_Youkilledusall_

_-no trace of who they were. They stand in a proud pack before him, some of the women weeping but there are no tears because there are no fluids left, nothing but blood, so much blood, which is funny because most of the time-_

_Youkilledusall_

_-when they fell there was almost no blood at all. Or none that he saw. Unlike with Edith, he doesn't speak. He can't speak, and there is nothing left to say. These men and women, these children that had been put under his charge that he had gotten killed, gotten **murdered**, what was he supposed to say to them? I'm sorry? You died well, you're missed, we were gentle with your families, I'm sorry I don't even remember your first names? _

_Jim_

_He lowers into a sit, barely able to hear the whispered call of his name. It comes from beyond the fire, from the other side, where They are. The two he's missing. But it is unimportant, because if they saw this, if they knew, they would no longer care for him, either. _

**_Jim _**

_The dead men converge on him, and one woman reaches out, touching his cheek with one clawed hand. He jerks away, looks up into the staring, dead eyes of-_

_"__Miramanee__." __He barely breaths the name, whispers it. "Don't. Please, don't."_

_ Not from her, he couldn't from her. He couldn't. _ _Blood runs down her legs. Her eyes are hollow, the blood-tears of Edith running down her cheeks, and her hand returns to his face. She doesn't_

_Jim, you must_

_Say a word, just stares with eyes that loved him, __trusted__ him, and he'd lied to her, lied to them all and she'd died. Because of him she'd died. He'd _

_Jim! Listen. To. Me. Listen! You know this is incorrect, Jim. Think. Logically, Jim. None of these deaths were your fault. You did what you could. You did what you had to do. Think! _

_Miramanee jerks away from him as if burned, as if it were she, not him, who was scalding, sweating from the heat of the flames that dance between them and the speaker. The speaker who is so insistent, who won't let him to his punishment, his misery. _

_He knows the low, urgent voice. He knows it, and it makes him feel like ice. Ice against the heat of those flames, ice against the hurt, ice cold protection, sharp and painful enough to break past the agony of what he is seeing. _

_He looks. _

_He does not want to look, but he does. He's afraid of what he will see, but the urdge is too strong, the voice too demanding. _

_He knows that voice. _ _He knows. _

_He pushes upwards, and his lover, his wife, his beautiful Miramanee screams without vocal coards- a sound like a dying bird- and lashes out, her nails latching into Edith's marks, burying them in his flesh. _ _He cries out himself and drops to his knees again, and Miramanee leans over him, reaches deeper __into__ him. _ _"Mine!" She hisses, one word, so savage, so raw, her hate palpable. _ _He thinks he's crying._

_Listen! Look! Look at me, Jim. Look!_

_Goawayithurts_

_Look__!_

_Goawayithurts_

**_James Tiberius Kirk, you stubborn, stupid martyr, look at us!_**

_He looks. The voice is different, but he knows it, too. He knows them both. Not ice, not cold, but this is- he is- he knows- solid, unyielding, reliable, true. Anchor. Anchor. _

_He looks._ _The fire is gone. _

_And Spock is standing in it's place. _ _With Leonard McCoy at his side. _

_Miramanee screams._

_And_

_Jim Kirk _

-Wakes up.


	6. Chapter 6

Spock drops his hand from my head like I'm on fire as Jim jolts upright on the bed, the cry ripping from his chest rough, raw, like an animal in pain. I'm _slammed_ back into my own mind, and drop my head instantly, a headache blooming between my eyes like I've just been brained with a the gasp on Spock's part, apparently he was thrust aside just as violently.

Jim lurches upright, drenched in sweat, throwing his covers aside.I bring my head up, ignoring the pounding in my skull to push him flat again. I'm shaking. Why am _I_ shaking?

"Bones, let me up." He rasps, and I force myself to take a deep breath, trying madly to stop my vibrating.

I knew Jim had darkness in him. I had no idea it was that bad. I should have known. I should have _seen_. No, I did see. Damn it, I should have pressed him harder. Pushed him more on the days I saw weakness. I'm his best friend. One of his oldest friends. He doesn't have to always be the captain with me. He forgets, sometimes, and sometimes me, too.

"Jim, easy-"

"Bones, _let me up_."

The urgency in his voice suddenly hits me, and I yank back, letting him sit. He reels dizzily, closing his eyes, then is up and staggering to the door. He yanks it open, goes out, and not a moment later is violently ill. I look at Spock, knowing Jim won't want us to see him that way; but I've seen enough men loose their lunch to not see it as weakness. And that _includes_ Jim Kirk when he drinks too much.

And Spock?

Spock is already heading to the door.

I follow, and Spock goes to the guard, at our door. The man is on his feet, staring helplessly at our captain, uncertain if he should go to him or not. Spock moves to him, speaking quietly in his ear; the man nods and moves away. I give Spock a grateful nod. "Let him get it all up." I say quietly, catching his arm before he can go closer to Jim. "Just- give him a minute. You- are you alright?" He looks like he has the mother of all headaches, but otherwise, he's as painfully unreadable as ever.

"I will be fine, Doctor." He says softly, and then dips his head. "I….apologize, for any pain the situation may have caused you. And I-" He pauses, his difficulty visible only in his eyes. He doesn't twitch, or lick his lips; he almost never fidgets, or shifts- you just have to learn what his eyes mean. I'm learning it- Jim's known it for a while. "I am aware of what my mirror self did to you. I appreciate the effort it must have taken for you to allow me access to your mind."

What he means is 'thank you'. Jim needed us and he needed _both_ of us; Spock had said as much.

We'd woken to the sounds of a violent nightmare, which we'd been expecting. Jim had lain in that bed fighting his covers like he was fighting a monster.

What we hadn't expected was that he was fighting _many_.

Calling him, shaking, every conventional attempt at _waking him up_ hadn't worked. He'd acknowledged my voice in the slightest tilt of his head, _tried_ to surface, but failed. Gasped and fallen back into the dream, tossing the blanket off and once, clawing at his own chest. I hadn't wanted to tie him down, but that had been where things were going until Spock, quietly, offered to try and wake him up with less conventional means.

"And what if you get stuck in there with him?" I'd demanded. "This isn't _just_ a dream, Spock!"

"I'm aware of what it is and is not, Doctor." Spock had snarled back at me, or his version of a snarl, anyway. "But whatever battle our Captain is fighting, I do not believe he is winning. I believe….that he needs us."

And he had said _us_. I had been momentarily stunned by the use of the word, the open, honest use of it. And then he had simply asked me to trust him. Which, despite our arguments, our bickering, disagreements and antagonism, I have _never_ not done. And when he _asked_ for it- I could not refuse. He almost never extends that to me. However, when he quietly told me he did, indeed, need my help; I felt a cold surge of fear. I'd had mirror Spock forcibly meld with me months ago, and the thought of letting him anywhere near my mind again made me shut down hard.

But Jim needed us. And it had been as opposite as water to fire. Spock had been gentle, coaxing, his touch as gentle and shy as a new lover. He'd waited for me to be ready. Waited for me to relax. Calm, quiet and soothing, he was remarkably different in this then he was in interacting with….well….anyone. Ever. It was a side of Spock I had never seen, and something I fully planned on exploring more, when this whole business was over.

And it had worked, and here we are, now.

With Jim hurling his stomach acid into the bushes because he's got nothing else in there to hurl up, and Spock and I trying very hard to pretend there's not still lingering traces of us in each other's minds. It's not a comfortable feeling.

I understand, now, why he says it's so intimate.

By the fourth painful sounding dry heave, I finally feel the angry, tight ball in my stomach loosen. "Aw, hell. Spock, go see if you can get some water somewhere." I snap. "Damn fool, told him to eat-" And I had, too. If he'd gotten something on his stomach he might not be heaving helplessly in the bushes right now. He'd have something on his stomach, at least.

"….Of course." Spock's reply is distracted and I think he's in more pain then he's letting on- if my headache is any indication, I  
_know_ he is- and more worried then he'll admit. Not that he'll admit to worry at all. He strides off quickly, and I turn, moving to Jim's side. I rest a hand on his shoulders, and he takes a breath, panting heavily, back heaving under my touch.

"That's one way to loose weight." I joke gently, knowing he'll appreciate the attempt at normalcy. He doesn't even try to smile, though, just doubles over in another fierce, vain heave. I could ease the nausea but frankly he deserves it- he'll _listen_ to me next time- and anyway, it would only stop the physical reaction.

The reason why he's trying to vomit is something no hypo can fix.

Hopefully friendship, if a little late, can. I should have been able to prevent this. He sinks to a knee, resting his head on it; arm wrapped around his stomach. "Jim?" I squeeze his shoulder, gentle. "Done?"

He shrugs slightly, eyes closing. "Heck of a test." He rasps. "You were there. Really. It wasn't just- part of the dream. Spock-"

"Spock can do things he doesn't say he can do." I drawl, smiling wryly. I try to hide how….strange, it feels, and I lie to myself. I try to tell myself that it didn't feel oddly _right_. Us three, connected like that, for just as long as it took- it felt _right_. And that scares me.

"He….put you there? You saw?" Gasped, rough words; he's trying not to start heaving again.

"Get up and get inside." I say, rather then answering. "I'll give you something for the nausea, and Spock's getting you some water."

"You saw?" Again, demanding. He's gripping his own knee so tightly his knuckles are white.

_Oh, I saw, alright. I'd like to forget I ever did._

"We'll talk about it later, Jim." I say instead, reaching under his arm. "Just calm down, and help me get you up."

He gets a foot under him, pushes up, and has to lean heavily on me for a moment or two. His head hangs, and he suddenly seems exhausted.

"No, we won't, Bones." He whispers. "It was just that _thing_, whatever it was."

"Jim, it picked something you have in your subconscious." I say, leading him back to the house. "That's not healthy, keeping it locked up, you're not Spock."

"There's nothing to keep locked up." He tries to steel his voice, fails when he's forced to swallow bile.

"Don't you _dare_ lie to me." I snap. "I'm not just your surgeon, I'm your best friend. Stop. Lying to me." I feel a surge of anger and irritation at his stubborn refusal to admit he, too, is just human.

He glances over at me, gestures helplessly as I sit him on the bed again. "It's just that thing playing with my head. Trying to. It's not-"

"Damn it, Jim, I was there! I felt _exactly_ what 'it's not'!" I explode, tired of the lines. He's going to _sit there_ and try to convince me what I saw, felt, didn't happen. "I saw that mess! No wonder you don't sleep half the time with those things running around in your-"

"Enough, Bones, drop it!" He barks, his voice raw and pain rough, nearly yelling. I fall back, half in surprise, and he puts his face in his hands. "Just one week, and it'll be done and we can forget it." He whispers, and I wonder who he's trying to convince- him or me.

"I wish it was that simple-"

"I said let it _go_!" He jerks his head up. "I don't want to talk about it, I don't want to _think_ about it, I just want to get some _sleep_ without dreaming. So if you can help me there, _feel free_. Otherwise, _leave me the hell alone_!" Embarrassed. Angry. Hurt. Scared. I read it all in his attack. Jim lashes out when he's in turmoil- he hurts everyone close enough, blindly, going for the jugular. He doesn't mean it. But that's how he reacts- how stress causes him to act. He knows exactly how to get anyone to back off. It's always worked before. And I'm ashamed to say it, but it works now.

Now is _not_ the time to push him, but that doesn't mean I won't be doing it later. "If that thing wants to test you again tonight, Jim, nothing I give you will make a difference." I point out, keeping my voice low, soft. "But I have something I can give you."

"I do not believe the test will occur again tonight." Spock's voice in the doorway makes me jump and Jim's head come up.

"Geez, make some noise, will you? Are you half Vulcan or half cat?"

Spock's eyebrows lift and what Jim calls his _not smile_ plays over his lips. "An illogical question, doctor. Here." He hands me a small container of water, which I pass over to Jim. He is smiling slightly, takes it with hands that are steady. But he needs both to hold it, all the same. "I don't think it's so illogical." He mutters, exhaustion slurring his words. Spock looks mildly offended, but Jim goes on. "Why don't you think it'll happen again tonight?"

"Doctor McCoy's Rayne told me so." He says. Jim snorts into the water, and I feel a blush rise on my cheeks.

"She is not _mine_." I splutter. I swear there's amusement in his eyes when he replies.

"She seems to be of the opinion that you are hers." He says dryly, approaching me. "And your denial makes her gift for you considerably more out of place." "

Gift." I echo, feeling trepidation in my stomach even as I reach for the medical kit. "And what would that be?"

Spock stands, staring at me. He's stalling, and that is remarkably unlike him.

"Spock, _what_-"

"She wishes me to kiss you." I yelp as Jim looses it completely, his laughter more then half hysterical, but at least he's _laughing_.

"What the hell, Spock?" "It was her gift to you. She requested I pass it on." He doesn't even look _flustered_, damn him. And I am torn between being childishly thrilled that Rayne sent on a kiss and disturbed enough to scrub for a week over the choice of messenger.

"Spock, when people _say that_ it's a figure of _speech_."

"I am aware, Doctor. Thus why I did not _actually_ kiss you." I open my mouth- then stop, my irritation dying. Spock has just, with or without meaning to, snapped Jim out of it. A little embarrassment is well worth it.

"What did I tell you, Bones? A girl in….in every port." His voice and happiness falter, ending as abruptly as they came, and I remember seeing Miramanee, standing in front of him in the crowd of corpses, bloody and attacking him like a vicious, injured animal.

I wonder who else he saw. I can think of at least one.

"Here, Jim." I say gently, as even Spock picks up on the return of tension. "The infamous little red pills."

He takes the pill bottle from me, but I don't let go, not right away. "_Don't_ abuse these, either." I say. Normally, I wouldn't think he would. Right now, I'm not as sure.

"_One_."

"I know. I know, Bones, just one." I let go, and he sets the bottle beside the cot. I push into a stand, and Spock, beside me, steps back.

"You alright, Jim?" I ask softly, knowing him well enough to know I won't get anything else out of him for the night. He nods, once, slowly.

"I think so, anyway. If there won't be another test I should be fine."

Spock nods. "Very well. Goodnight, again, Captain. Doctor."

"Night, Spock." I say, echoed by Jim's, "Good-night." Then he looks at me, shaking a pill in his hand and holding it up, pointedly. "See? I'll be a good boy."

"Ha ha, Jim." I snap. "You know, it's okay to admit something like that messed you up."

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "I _don't want to talk about it Bones._ If I have to say it again-"

"Alright, alright." I hold my hands up. Not tonight, but it's not something he can put off forever. "If you need anything you know where to find me. Or Spock. 'Night."

"Night, Bones. And Bones." I pause. Three, two-

"I'm sorry." I chorus it with him, and he stops, surprised.

"I know you are." I go on, with a gentle smile. "Don't worry about it. I'm more upset you feel you have to hide from me."

"Bones-" He sounds exhausted, exasperated.

"Don't." I hold a hand up. "I'm tired. _You're_ tired. Get some rest, Jim. I'll see you tomorrow."

And I leave the room without so much as glancing back, and hope that it will make a point, and not break a thread.


	7. Chapter 7

Rayne is there when I wake up the next morning. Literally _and_ physically- it's raining outside when I wake. I can hear it on the roof, a gentle, steady drizzle. And she is kneeling by my bed, with a tray of food for all of us.

"I hear your Captain had his first test last night." She says, as I wake up and try to adjust to suddenly having someone by my 'd _let herself in, _and had been sitting by the bed for probably hours now. Pushing the sheets back, I swing my legs over the side and thank the Lord none of us sleep nude. "Your 'tests' are…something to be feared." I tell her, reaching over to find my shirt and tug it over my head.

"We did warn you they aren't easy." She looks up at me with those big eyes, her hair tied back in a braid that loops gently over her right shoulder. She's in an off-the-shoulder dress no longer then the uniforms the women on the ship wear; showing her cleavage and legs that seem to go on forever and a day.

She's beautiful.

She's _insane_.

"You did." I say. "Rayne, next time you want to bring us breakfast, as much as I appreciate it, can you- at least- _knock_?"

She blinks at me innocently. "I did! When no one answered, the guard said I may as well go in and sit at the foot of your bed."

_That was sarcasm, child._ Or at least I can hope it was.

"Would you like me to wake your crewmates?" She asks delicately, blinking up at me, all innocence.

"No." I say, picking at the fruit on the tray. "No, the Captain needs his rest. And I'll wake Spock myself. Thank you though, Rayn."

She smiles up at me, standing. "You're welcome. I won't just walk in next time. Did you get my present to you last night? I asked Mr. Spock."

I feel the blush run hot and vivid to my cheeks, my body and my brain competing. I know she's very obviously insane, if in one of the more subtle ways I've ever seen. But she is beautiful, and it's infrequent enough that the girl is flirting with me and not Jim, or, more rarely, Spock. _You have enough to worry about without a girl. Stop acting as bad as Chekov and get your thoughts straight, McCoy. _ "I got it, alright." I tell her, putting my hands on her shoulders. "Rayn, listen-"

"Doctor?" Spock's voice, soft and light with having just woken up comes from behind me.

"In here, Spock- there's breakfast if you want it." I lift Rayn gently to her feet. "You need to go, Rayn, I'd like to speak with my crewmates alone."

"Of course!" She chirrups. "You have a lot to talk about. Feel free to go anywhere you like in the colony; be careful if you go outside of it, though, there are predators. If you need anything, just find one of us!" And she is gone.

Spock strides over to my bed and crouches on it next to me, accepting the portion of breakfast that is his. Yesterday they'd been informed on his particular dietary needs-or rather desires. "The Captain is, I presume, still resting?"

"If he took that pill he'll be out for a couple hours yet." I reply, picking at my own food. "After last night, he needs his sleep."

"And you, doctor?" He asks, and I raise a brow in surprise. Not that I should be; it's not that rare that Spock offers- I won't say _shows_- concern.

"Me? I'm fine." I say, and right now, it's true. For the time, I'm well-rested and have eaten well. It's _mentally_ that I feel unbalanced and strained, but Jim is our concern, not me.

"Good." Spock says, setting his food on his lap. "Because if the test comes again tonight, I believe we will have to take the same actions." My food pauses halfway to my mouth. Last night was not the first time he'd melded with me after that alternate Spock had forced his way into my mind, but it _was_ the first time he's ever done anything like that. And now he is watching me, intently. He knows how badly I'm scared, how badly it frightened me how we _clicked_ last night.

"Spock, I-think I owe you an apology." I say at last, and it's his turn to freeze, hand lowering to his plate.

"An apology?"

I take a deep breath. I'm not the kind of man who has a difficult time apologizing when I'm in the wrong, but Spock _is_ a hard man to apologize _to_. Sometimes he doesn't get it; sometimes he pretends not to. "I-when I first asked you, about a mind meld-you said that it was very personal." I say slowly, awkwardly. "I didn't listen-"

"You were concerned for the Captain's welfare. "

"Still, I shouldn't have put him over you." I say, and realize I _mean_ it. Spock is just as important to me as Jim is, even though I'm not sure what the hell you would call our relationship. He is looking at me now, and I can feel his surprise, even though it hardly shows on his face.

"Doctor-" He lowers his head, and rubs his long, elegant hands together slowly. Nervous. He won't admit it, but he's _nervous_. We all have our little ticks, even stubbornly faux-stoic half Vulcans. Jim bites his lip (or anything else that gets in the immediate vicinity of his mouth, but usually his lip), I fiddle with things and ramble, and Spock's hands suddenly won't be still. The only time I see him do it is right _before_ he does something with his strange abilities, or when he's edgy. Rubbing, squeezing, slow and subtle, fingers interlacing and releasing, rubbing along the material of his pants. It's the Spock equivalent of stammering. "-what I did with you and the Captain was….remarkably more….." He stops, looking for the right word. "More _personal_ then what I did with Simon van Gelder. Granted, any time the act is performed on the level I was forced to with him it is incredibly intimate, but far more common then what happened last night. As you may have noticed, I have touched the minds of many people and creatures since then. I have found it to be an interesting experience, different with each person, or creature. You and the Captain, for example, are very different in both thought and feeling."

I lift a brow and cock my head to one side, before I realize I'm unconsciously mimicking him. "Different?"

"It's….complicated, Doctor, and I do not believe you would fully understand. You couldn't." He is shaking his head, just slightly. "Not without the ability to experience it yourself. You would most_ easily_ understand it compared to your personas; just as you and the Captain very different, so are your minds."

That-actually makes sense. A lot of sense, in truth. It almost makes me feel better knowing that it changes depending on who he's doing it to- less unstoppable, I guess, even though I know that's irrational. I've _seen_ him stopped, or unable to do it. I know it's just as dangerous for him as it is for anyone else, and he would not push himself on anyone; not this universe's Spock, anyway."And this was more _personal_." I reiterate.

His hands run together again. "I would not have attempted it on anyone but my….closest friends." He says, the second time I remember his admitting his affection for us. He- we all-seem to be growing and changing the more we are on this mission and around each other. "Or anyone I did not know as well. It was….dangerous, and as you may have noticed, very-_deep_."

"I still felt-I mean, it felt-" I shake my head, trying to sort it out. Spock lets out a soft breath.

"It is the only way we can reach Jim in the state he's in with the test." He says slowly, closing his eyes. "I understand your discomfort, Doctor."

Cold. Cold. So damnably, perfectly, _controlled_. He's _half_ Vulcan, and yet he takes his human half, smothers it and shoves it under the bed like it's a thing to be ashamed of, and names himself Vulcan. But Jim doesn't need Spock-the-Vulcan. He needs Spock-his-friend, just like he needs Bones, not Doctor McCoy. And Spock can't be that when he's busy playing at being completely invulnerable. After what we just _saw_, with what Jim is going through- how can he be so unaffected? And he wonders why we tend to forget his human half is there.

"Discomfort?" I raise my head and glare. "I am not _uncomfortable_ with it. I just peeked into one of my closest friend's mind and found a personal _hell_, Spock. A thing out of a horror story! Things my best friend can't or won't discuss with me when they are _clearly_ tearing him up. I was in his _head_, with you, Spock, and there was- it was- like-nothing I've ever felt in my life. And you say 'discomfort'. I'm not uncomfortable, Spock, I'm _scared_, and _angry_, and _frustrated_, and _guilty. _Do you understand _any_ of those things past the clinical definition?"

Too far. I went too far. I know it the second the words leave my mouth, feel my entire body freeze up in a quiet wince. He slams down, slams _shut_, like a door closing in my face. Much like Jim, when Spock goes quiet, he goes quiet with his entire self. Then he straightens up. "If you do not wish it-"

"I never said that, you stubborn fool." I snap, hoping he can hear the apology hidden in my bad-tempered words. I only snap at people I like. It's a joke Jim made a very long time ago, and a well known one. "If it's the only way to get at Jim when he's _there_, then-we have to."

Spock pushes upright, gracefully as he does everything. "I understand it is difficult for you to see Jim in such a state." He says, gently setting his food down, half-eaten. "I am his friend, as well."

_Ouch. Point made, point taken, Mr. Spock. _I'm not the only one that can hit below the belt, apparently. "I know." I say, and let it come out gently. "That makes this our job, doesn't it? We might not like what we see, but he needs us. The one of us isn't strong enough. The three of us just might be. Right?" He nods once, solemn, but meets my eyes with that _not smile_.

"A logical assumption, doctor." He says, and if he was anyone else I'd say he was teasing me.

"And where are you going?"

"The Captain is sleeping peacefully, for the moment. Unless you need me for something, I will be taking advantage of the _calm in the storm, _as you say, and finding out what I can about this planet and the colony."

"Be careful." I tell him, simply; he's a big boy, he can go where he likes. "And….Spock, about Rayne-"

"Doctor, I believe we have higher concerns then your flirtations with a woman."

And there's the usual sensation that comes with Spock interaction- _irritation_. "I _know that_, Spock; that's not what I was going to say!"

"Indeed? What about Rayne, then, Doctor McCoy?"

"….Just don't tell her more then you need to. And _don't_ encourage her. She worries me, Spock. There's something off about her."

Spock nods. "Indeed." He says. "I believe she is quite insane."

"You noticed that, too, hu?"

"Impossible not to, Doctor."Spock lets out a low sigh. "I shall be back by this evening, before nightfall."

"I'll let Jim know, when he wakes up. Meanwhile, I get to try and stuff food down his throat." He gives me that _look_ that means he's not certain if I'm being serious or not. "Go on, Spock, go." I say. "Just be careful, like I said." He nods, and leaves the room. I move his food back down to the tray and pick mine up again, pushing it around idly. Suddenly, I'm not very hungry myself.


	8. Chapter 8

Jim wakes a few hours later. He staggers out into the main room where I am waiting. I've been sitting there trying to find words, trying to sort through everything that has happened in a single day. And I can't even begin. There's too much, and it keeps chasing itself in circles like a dog chasing its tail around my mind. Without an outlet, I can't focus or pinpoint any certain thought. Guilt and fear are circling around up there, too, and by the time Jim reappears, I've only sunk deeper into a solemn silence and the realization that I have _no idea_ what I'm going to say or do. I'll have to improvise.

His blonde hair is in disarray, and he looks more then still half-asleep when he appears, lifting a hand in a half-hearted greeting and walking directly into a wall with the side of his body.

"Morning, sleeping beauty." I say. "There's a wall there."

He grunts, staggers over to a chair and slumps, bonelessly, into it. He runs a hand over his face with a low groan. "What's _in_ that stuff?" He asks after another moment, his voice a low husk. I grin lopsidedly- he has this reaction every time he uses those things. Not that I can say much; they knock me for a loop, too.

"How're you feeling?" I ask timidly, not offering him food yet; even on a normal, good day, he doesn't eat this soon after waking up. He laughs, a harsh, humorless sound, his hands dropping from his face. He looks-exhausted and worn.

"Like I've been worked over. Twice. Professionally. With _relish_."

I laugh myself, softly. Try to keep my attitude, my voice, normal and light. I've been Jim's friend long enough at least to know how to handle him, even if I don't know what to _do_ next. "I'll see if there's a place you can clean up, Jim. And once the last of that drug gets out of your system, come see me."

He shakes his head. "Doesn't matter, Bones. Just ache. Mostly my head. It'll just happen again tomarrow. Or rather, tonight."

"Jim….about last night-" I decide to just jump in, the way he tends to. Dive in to the neck and hope you'll be alright in the end. He lifts a hand and waves me off, head still hanging.

"No, no." He slurs. "You did what you had to."

I grit my teeth, look away. He's either diverting on purpose or he honestly thinks I'm more concerned he'll be angry then at what I- we- saw. Sometimes, with Jim, it can be as hard to tell as it is with Spock. "That's not what I meant, and you know it." I say, taking a chance it's the first one. By the way he goes stiff, I'm right. "Jim, listen-" The hand is stiff, now, held upright as if to stave off an attack.

"Bones. We had this conversation last night." "You were half out of your head last night, Jim." Not that he's much better off right now. Might not be very fair that I'm taking my strike while he's still fuzzy, but it might _also_ be the only chance I get to do it.

"Well I was _half_ not, then, and I meant what I told you. I don't want to talk-"

"Jim, you _can't_ keep all that to yourself! That was a nightmare-"

"_I know what it was!"_ His roar rips through the room, causing me to jump violently enough to loose the food on my lap. It hits the floor, a piece of fruit rolling across the floor to bump gently against my foot. He almost never yells. He doesn't have a _reason_ to, for one; his crew and his friends give him the respect he deserves and demands without it. And anyway, he's a generally calm, laid back personality who understands that he is not always right and we are not always wrong. He's a unique captain who runs his ship in a unique way, walking the line between _friend_ and _captain_ like a skilled acrobat. So I tend to forget that when he _does_ yell, he _bellows_. He is, at heart, a solider, even more so then a diplomat- I swear he could bring down walls with the force of his voice alone.

I bend, gently picking up the mess. He's trembling, sitting there and watching me. "….You at least need to eat." I manage, gut twisting. I don't want to play this the way he's going to force me to play it. I don't want to do it this way. I can, I'm more then capable of it-but it makes me faintly ill.

Breath coming slow and heavy, he shakes his head. "Not hungry." I'm surprised there's no audible _snap_ as my own temper goes.

"I don't _care_, Jim. Either _eat_ or I swear I'll turn it into paste and force feed you." I snarl.

"You wouldn't-"

"It's been a full day since you've put anything more substantial then water in your stomach." I make the words come out fast and clipped. It's the only way he'll listen right now. Sometimes, speaking as his friend is less effective then as his chief medical officer. "If you keep refusing to eat I am not going to take pity on you if we have a repeat of yesterday. Starving yourself isn't going to get you through this _or_ bring the _Enterprise_ back any sooner. So _sit_ your ass down on this bed and _do as I say_."

His face softens, surprise and laughter lighting his tired hazel eyes. "Are you giving the orders now, Doctor?"

"When you're being a stubborn fool, yes." I say, but let it soften, come out as his friend again. "Jim." He stands, stumbling over to me and flopping down on the bed's edge. I had him the food that didn't hit the floor, and he looks at it as if he's not sure what to do with it.

"Eat." I say. "Insert in mouth and chew." He flickers a glance up to me, eyebrows lifted before he chuckles. Finally he begins to eat, slowly, reluctantly; the more he eats, though, the more he seems to come awake. He gets about half of it down before his entire body lurches in protest and he sets down the tray. Concerned, I reach forward, and he waves me off.

"I'm fine. " He says softly, eyes closed.

"You are not." I snap. "And no wonder, after last night. Jim, let me-"

"Bones, please." His voice is soft, pained.

"You're my friend, not just my captain." I press. "And even if you weren't, strictly professionally I'd have a right to be concerned about your ability to-"

"_Don't_." The word is a deep growl. "I've managed fine up until now, just because you've _seen_ something some creature created in my mind-"

"It didn't _create_ it. It drew it up from your own mind." I remind him coldly. "Jim, it goes against every fiber in me to watch a _total stranger_ in pain. What do you think it's doing to me, when it's _you_?"

Guilt flashes across his face, and he pushes the food around on the plate. I expect that guilt to transmute into anger, and I'm right.

"And what do you think you're going to _say_, Bones? That none of that was _really_ my fault? Bullshit. And you _know _it. That I did what I had to do? That I made decisions and all decisions have repercussions? That I can't control, can't predict everything that's going to happen? I've heard it all _over_ and _over_ again and I am _tired_ of hearing it-"

"Wrong." I snarl, and my poor tray smacks to earth again, this time because I've dropped it on purpose as I jolt to my feet. "That is _not_ what I was going to say."

"Then what?" He's on his feet now, too, mere inches separating us. And the words flow from me like a dam breaking wide open.

"That over the years I have known and served under you, almost every decision you have made has been the most unselfish, self­_less_ decision I have ever seen a man make. That you have willingly given up yourself to protect that ship and the men and women on it time and _time_ again without fear or hesitation. That under pressure, you manage not _only_ to stay calm and rational but to come up with some of the most innovative, creative ways to get out of a bad or dangerous situation, often _without ever resorting to force._ That you have the utter loyalty of every person who knows you, the respect, the care, and the _friendship_ of every person who knows you. That James Kirk is gentle, compassionate, and intelligent, and strong, and one of the best men I know, best friends I have _ever_ had, and without a doubt the best Captain I have known. And _no one_ tears him apart in front of me, not even him!" I stop, at last. We are both panting, distance between us closed even further, fire meeting fire, temper clashing with temper, my words, honest and heartfelt and never, _ever_ vocalized, hanging between us. I should have said those things more often. I should have known that even James Kirk, the great, strong Captain Kirk, needs to hear them.

And then he sinks back onto the bed.

I relax as he does so, lowering into a sit beside him once more.

"….Bones." Is all he says, quietly, softly, his voice strained. His hand goes up to his face again.

"Let me help, Jim." I say, reaching out. I place a hand on his shoulder, once again playing to his seeming hunger for contact. "Spock and I both, let _us_ help."

"Let me help." He chuckles, the sound humorless. "Don't say that again, okay, Bones? That's the first thing you can do."

I lift a brow, but I don't ask why. It likely has something to do with last night, one of the two women. "Only," I say, "if you finish that food."

He laughs softly, lifting the food again. "Deal." He says, still trembling a little. I let go of his shoulder, picking up the dropped food for a second time. He looks up as I stand, meeting my eyes.

"Thank you." He adds quietly, and I smile, patting his thigh.

"Anytime, Jim, even after we get through this. And we _will_ get through this."

"Yeah." He takes a deep breath, and when he opens his eyes again, I see the spark of defiant spirit that is my friend and Captain at his core. He's coming back to us. "_We_ will."


	9. Chapter 9

I don't want to leave Jim alone; but with Spock off exploring the colony and its people I don't have much choice. If I had it my way he wouldn't even be leaving the building, but no matter what his mental state Jim is still _Jim_, and he won't be confined to one building this entire incident. Nor, I think, will he appreciate a nursemaid. As much as I'm not thrilled with the idea of leaving him alone, my doctor's instincts _also_ won't leave me alone, chewing at the back of my mind with the urge to fully examine Asher and check on Sparrow. I don't know what, if anything, I can do for her-but I can't stop the knowing desire to _try_. What I told Jim wasn't a lie- I don't like to see people in pain.

Either way, I go with Jim to find a place to clean up, at least; we _both_ need that. We're given fresh clothing as well, on behalf of men near our size, and a change for Spock as well. Afterwards, when I tell Jim where I'm going, he surprises me by offering to come with me.

"I'd like to speak with Sparrow." He tells me, surprising me with not only his words but the tone is so oddly not-Jim. So oddly even _sad_. But when I look at him, his eyes flash and light up with his returned smile. He's going to be okay, I realize. It might be hard, but we've been through hard before, all of us. He'll be….okay, with time.

"Jim, she's out of her mind." I say. "She probably won't let you anywhere near her."

"Maybe." Jim takes a breath, smoothing a hand over the suede material of the vest he now wears. "But I-I didn't see what she did, Bones, but-I-saw-" He grits his teeth, and I don't make him finish that sentence.

"Well, it can't hurt." I say. Technically, it _can_ hurt; there's always the distant fear that seeing what could become of him won't exactly be thrillingly healthy for Jim. But if my time with him has taught me anything it's that he's a hard man to break- there's a very real possibility that it will only serve to make him that much more determined. "I'd rather not have to sedate her again, Jim, so just be _careful_."

This, at the least, ends my indecision about leaving Jim alone. He follows me out and down the 'street', of sorts, in this little newly-forming colony, to where Sparrow and Asher are. Or should be, anyway. When we get to the appropriate building, I pause at the door.

"Jim, it's not going to be pretty."

"Just open the door, Bones." He snaps, his anxiety making his tone sharp. He softens his words with a familiar lopsided grin, trying not to look like he's as uncertain as I am. At least he's working his way to normal, again, or trying to.

What he saw, if that was _all_ he was going to see, probably would not have a permanent effect on him. I'm only worried that the next _week_ of this might make recovery…..difficult.

I push open the door, and brace myself. As before, the poor souls affected so deeply by their memories lay on cots along the walls- this time, at least, there seem to be people wandering to each, caring for them. I hadn't seen them yesterday, but I guess that was more a matter of timing then their lack of care. They incline their heads as we enter, but don't do much else- I recognize their behavior from long experience as a doctor. Too busy to be polite.

Asher is near the back, sitting on the same bed, his hand petting through Sparrow's dark hair gently. He looks up as we enter and motions us in, his face quiet and sad.

"That _thing_ did this to all of them?" Jim's voice is tight with so many different emotions I can't pinpoint one particular one. "…..To me?" He adds, so softly, _so softly_, I almost can't hear it. I _do_ hear it, though, and I reach out to grip his arm, gently.

"No. " I say, voice to be firm, unyielding. "No, Jim, that will not be you. We won't let it. You won't. You know better then that."

He looks at me, face wane, but smiles again as best as he can. We move back to where Asher is. Sparrow is asleep, her head in his lap, her dark hair spread over the pillow as he pets it tenderly.

"How is she doing?" I ask, putting out an arm to hold Jim back.

"No better, no worse." Asher says, sounding exhausted. "You seem well for having taken the first night of the test, Captain."

"As well as I can be, with my ship missing." There's that single-minded stubbornness again. That he's upset about the ship again actually reassures me; it means he's back with us.

"I'm sure it's not missing. You simply can't see or communicate with it." Asher says, looking down again. "And I've already told you that they are unharmed, Captain. They are probably as concerned for you as you are for them, confused, worried and frustrated, but utterly unharmed."

"I wouldn't say _that_." I grunt. Jim gives me a significant look that says he agrees.

"Not to be rude, but can I ask what you two need?" Asher asks, then, voice going harder.

"I'd like to examine you further, Asher." I say, not wasting words- also not gentling my tone. I have no more patience for these people or this place, not after last night. I'm sorry for the lady and her lover, but I have my limits. These people persist in seeing this _creature_ as a benevolent, worth-while thing to bear. The repercussions of that belief are theirs to deal with. "See what this planet-or whatever it is- has done to you in detail. Also, I have a few questions for you. It won't be long, I assure you. Jim will stay with Sparrow while I look you over."

"….I don't have any problem with you examining me- again- doctor, but I don't think it's a good idea to just- to leave-"

I nod. "I understand if you don't want to leave her, Asher, but the Captain's been through something similar to her. Maybe he can help."

Asher looks up to Jim, who is staring at Sparrow with the soft look he gives all women. Jim's a womanizer, there's absolutely no way to deny it and not be lying through your teeth. He's got women in every star port and several on other planets; we've almost never made a stop somewhere he hasn't ended up with a fling. (Okay, that's not always fair- I know a couple of them he honestly could have fallen in love with.) But even with his- um, _promiscuous_ ways, he has always and _will_ always treat woman like they're made of gold. I believe he's a little bit in love with all of them.

Asher apparently sees it, too, because he slowly deflates and runs a hand one last time over Sparrow's face. "Alright." He says. "But if you upset her-"

"I won't." Jim takes a seat in a chair at the foot of the bed. He's no doctor, but he's far from stupid-he keeps a slight distance. "I'll get you if she starts to get agitated."

I take a breath, but nod once, dropping a hand on Jim's shoulder. "Is there a room we can go to for some privacy to talk while I do this?" I ask Asher, who nods.

"There's a room near the back." He kisses Sparrow's forehead, then motions me to follow him.

We slip into a room little better then a storage area; there is metal shelving full of supplies lining the back and side wall, and while there are two bare chairs near the back and a little, low table, not much else. Asher moves to the low table, seating himself on the chair.

"He won't harm her, will he?" He asks softly, as I begin my examination. The question throws me so much of a curve that I nearly drop my poor tricorder; I salvage the situation.

"Of course he won't!" I snap, offended on behalf of both Jim and myself. "I don't know why you're afraid of _him_."

"You are all three angry." He goes on, and I'm glad that his speaking won't affect what I'm trying to do.

"Of course we're _angry_. You've trapped us here, you're putting my best friend through hell, why _wouldn't_ I be?" I don't know when I'd skipped to 'I'. "That doesn't mean we're going to hurt any of you. You should be more worried about your 'tests'." My grip on his arm is maybe just a _little_ too tight as I move around in front of him, irritation and offense making me tense. How _dare_ he imply that we'd hurt any of them? We came here for a good reason, to help where we could, and ended up trapped, tormented. We should be wary of getting hurt, not _them_.

"Doctor." Asher winces and tries to pull free of my grip. He can't.

Okay. Maybe more then a _little_ too hard. I let go, somewhat guilty, and he rubs the spot I'd been gripping.

"Doctor," He tries again, still wincing, "please, _don't_ interfere in this. It's just our way. Look at your readings- look at _me._ You'll be reminded of just how unusual my physical condition is. Not only do we have heightened senses, do we need nourishment less often, but wounds heal in days. Sickness is non existent. It does not come free however. That doesn't make this creature, this force, malevolent!"

"What about people like Rayn? What about your Sparrow?" I throw back in his face, my examination forgotten in the heat of the argument. "It drove them crazy, Asher. That seems pretty malevolent to me."

"That was the price they pay for not being able to see their own past lay out before them-"

"That's your _wife_ you're talking about!" I exclaim, unable to believe my ears. "And it isn't their past- it's twisted, perverted-"

"I know who it is I refer to." He cuts me off, his voice low and sad. "And if this place perverts it, it only does so based on how _they_ see it."

I stop, frozen solid as the terrible, ice-cold chill of realization creeps up to my heart. I was more right then I'd known.

"You mean-"

"However the test manifests is how the person involves perceives it, even subconsciously."

What Jim had seen was what Jim _felt_, if he knew it or not.

Why hadn't I seen that? Was he that good at hiding it, or was I just that _oblivious_?

"I think I got all I needed after all." I say in a dazed sort of way, and Asher rises, putting a hand on my shoulder.

"Doctor-"

"Bones?" The door cracks open and Jim peeks through, and heaven help me, he looks _normal_, or as normal as he can be expected to look. "She's asking for him."

"Asking, Jim?" I echo. "She's lucid?"

Jim takes his lip between his teeth gently in a gesture I'm well familiar with. "In a sense she is. Asher?"

Asher nods, and we follow Jim back out into the main room. Sparrow is sitting up, her knees tucked to her chest- when she sees him, she launches herself at him. Her slender arms twine around his waist, her face pressed into his chest. She begins to sob instantly, heaving, wracking tears that force him to sit beside her, whispering in her ear and stroking her back.

Jim moves up beside me, placing a hand on the small of my back. "Bones, time to go." He says gently, near my ear. I glance up at him, not willing to leave a hysterical woman- but his eyes are hard as his voice is not. That was, in every way, a silent order.

There's nothing significant I can do here any longer, anyway.

I'm getting tired of feeling helpless.


	10. Chapter 10

That evening finds us back in our temporary home, Spock having returned only an hour before Jim and I finally headed back ourselves. We find him eating fruit and looking at an honest-to-goodness hard copy book when we get back. Jim and Spock both have a fondness for those; I can't say I disagree. There is something nostalgic and comforting in having an actual _book_ in your hands, something no chip or card will ever be able to replace. Perhaps things are more convenient now- that doesn't always mean we prefer them.

"Where'd you find that?" Jim asks as we slip inside, me tossing my kit onto a chair gently and him settling down backwards in a chair to peer at his first officer.

"They have a moderate collection." Spock replies, gently closing the book. His long-fingered hands are respectful of the old, fragile pages. I don't know what he's reading, but it's got some years behind it. "We are free to explore it."

"I'll want to have a look." Jim says, smiling a little. "Since we're going to be a while- nothing else to do, right?" And, I think, something to take your mind off what you saw. But I won't say that.

"Jim," I do say, taking a seat of my own and dragging it up alongside them, "what happened with Sparrow?"

"You spoke to the girl?" Spock chimes in, curiously. "I wasn't aware she was lucid enough to communicate."

"She wasn't, not really." Jim's voice is lilting, which means he's musing. "But it was strange. It's like she _knew_ I had just gone through part of the test. The second she looked at me. Even though she's been completely out of it. "

"Very possible." Spock speaks up, finishing his fruit and discarding the core. "There's a chance that these people have a sort of psychic connection that allows them to tell when another is undergoing their 'test'. I can only assume- and hope- it is a temporary one, fading after the test is complete. I do not enjoy the idea of our Captain with a permanent mental connection to a planet full of other humans."

Jim blinks, his own eyebrows in his hairline now. "No, neither does the Captain." He mutters. "Especially when half of them are mad."

"You're avoiding my question, Jim." I drawl, reaching out to kick his chair gently. "What did she say?"

Jim kicks back, knocking my chair back on it's hind legs- "Hey! I didn't do it half that roughly-" but his smile falters at the edges, becomes strained. I start to regret I asked.

"She asked me what I saw." He says. His eyes go to that far-away dark place I loath so much, and he lowers his chin to his arms.

"Jim-" I say, gently, reaching out to him. "Look, nevermind, you don't have to-"

"Doctor, pretending it did not happen is never the wisest way to handle a situation." Spock's cool baritone from my right. Clinical and precise, he asks; "And what did you tell her?"

Jim's head and eyes jerk over to his friend, and how Spock can not flinch under that dark stare so unlike Jim I do not know. I feel my entire body tense at that look, my breath catch.

"_Spock_-"

Jim holds up a hand, stopping me, but never once looks away from Spock.

"A nightmare." He says after a long, long pause. "I told her I saw a nightmare. She said she did, too. That's when she started calling for Asher. I went and got you both when she started to get worked up." He flips the chair on its hind legs and balances there, chewing his lip. "I don't want you two going through this, Bones."

"Captain, considering the circumstances I believe we have little in the way of other options." Spock points out, eyebrow up, predictably.

"I don't know and I don't care. It's bad enough you got drawn into my bad dream, I'm not going to let this _thing_ play with your heads, too."

"Jim, it has our _ship_." I remind. "It's not going to give her or them back until we pass or fail this test."

"And what is _it_, exactly?" He demands, and the chair _thumps_ down on all fours once more. "They keep trying to say it's the _planet itself_, which-"

"Is actually quite possible." Spock's voice is low when he jumps in, but he _does_ jump in. "When I was investigating both the colony and the outskirts, I discovered a low, constant….." His presses his lips together, letting out a soft breath of air. This is roughly the Vulcan- or Spock, anyway- equivalent of a fit of annoyance. "_Aura_, is the only word I can compare it to. And that is not completely accurate. There is almost certainly a kind of sentience to this planet itself."

"Well there you go." Jim throws his hands up. "Something sentient can be talked to, reasoned with."

"Not necessarily." I point out slowly. "I mean, that can be defined on several levels, Jim."

"And not only might this 'creature', if that is what we're dealing with, be unable to communicate, it might be _unwilling_ to do so." Spock adds. "There have been any number of times beings far superior to us in certain ways have used us as toys in a game amusing only to them."

I grimace. _That_ is painfully true.

Jim rocks _forward_ on the chair now, thoughtful. He's going to slip and break either the chair or his neck if he doesn't sit still. "I'm getting tired of playing those games." He says.

"….if I speak to Rayne a bit more, I might be able to get some information out of her." I suggest, slowly- I don't want to do that more then I don't want to do almost anything else. I may not always be the best at proving that I do, in fact, have degrees in psychiatry, but even I recognize the signs of a swiftly forming and deeply disturbing _obsession_. Any contact I make with her she'll read as encouragement, and on top of everything else, that's the last thing we need.

To my relief, he's shaking his head before I get halfway through the sentence. "No. No, Bones, she's unlikely to give us any more information. And the last thing we need to is to deal with _her_ anymore then we have to. It's a good idea, but not now, at least. Not unless we become certain she can give us more then we have." His lips thin and he brings a hand to his head; I sigh.

"Jim, I _can_ give you something for the headache-"

"Pointless. I'm just going to wind up with it again tonight."

"As are we, if all goes much the same as last time." Spock says quietly, hand glancing over the cover of his book again. I shiver at the reminder; while all traces of Spock and Jim had left hours ago, I will never forget how…._entangled_ I felt with them long after Spock had let go of us both. Spock meets my eyes, and _something_ passes between us. Jim senses it, too- but rather then darken his gaze, it _lightens_ it. As if the_ whatever it is_ sooths him somehow.

Heck if I can figure it out, though I have a suspicion.

"You two-Spock, Bones-"

"If you have a dream like you did last night, Jim, don't even _try_ telling us stay out." I snap. I don't care how unnerved the process makes me, or how hard it is to see Jim's darker side; I won't leave him when he needs me like that. I won't, and neither will Spock. He has to know that.

He does know that. He eyes, steady and level on mine, tell me he does.

"I could order you to." He points out in a low growl. "Even down here, I'm still your captain."

"Yes, Jim, you are." I say. "And if you _really_ wanted us to keep our distance, you _would_ order it."

"Logically, therefore, the conclusion is that you do not want us to leave you to it." Spock's voice is almost timid, his words as halting as I have ever heard them. "We were told that you would likely need support in this test."

"No harm in admitting you need a little help." I say. "Not with us, Jim." _This is, after all, us. Stop hiding. _

I can see the look in his eyes, that, _I'm the captain, I can't let you see me hurt_ look that he sometimes, stubbornly, gets. But then it fades, and I see his fear- he's scared to death of what he'll have to go through tonight, and who can blame him?

And he nods, slightly.

"I'll get dinner for us." I say. "And _you_, Captain, are going to eat it."

"Not hungry." Hand over his face. Stress. Worry. Confusion. Fear. I'm so very tired of seeing that motion, those expressions.

"We've had this conversation- I do not care." I snap right back.

"Allow me to show you the library." Spock says, rising abruptly. He's trying to keep Jim's mind off of it; keep him steadied. He's also buying me some time. "It is small, but there are several texts there I know you enjoy, Captain."

I move out, to find Rayn and some food. I remember how Jim simply passed out yesterday; it worries me. I'm pretty sure it'll work that way today-but I go to get the food, anyway.

I'll stuff it down him when he wakes up, if nothing else.


	11. Chapter 11

"_**I'll never lose you. Never." **_

_He's alone again, but it's not dark this time. No, this time he knows exactly where he is; he is on the deck of his Enterprise. His own words echo in his mind but he can't remember when he said them or who he said them to- he feels like that's something he should remember. _

_He can't be afraid, here. Here is home, safety, warmth, freedom. Something is telling him he should be afraid, but he simply can't. _

_He walks quietly to the captain's chair, some part of the back of his mind pointing out how very __**odd**__ it is that no one else is aboard her. He's been the only one on her before, though, hasn't he? She's so massive when no one else is there, so very quiet. It's eerie. It's peaceful. _

_His hand lands on the chair. It rotates under his palm, as if inviting, but he does not sit down in it. He's here for a reason. Or he thinks he is. Isn't he? _

_He is not alone. _

_The realization makes the hair on the back of his neck prickle, and he spins, looking at the doors to the lift. _

_He is not-he-needs to find her. She's looking for him. _

"_**I'll never lose you. Never." **_

_He moves to the lift mechanically, brow furrowed. He said those words. He said them, but who he said them to he can't-someone important, someone….he __**needs**__, needs more then….almost anything-_

"_Who did I say it to?" He asks the walls, as he steps through the opened doors and is taken….somewhere. He didn't give an instruction, a direction, he shouldn't be moving. Or should he be? _

_He can't remember anymore. But it's his ship, his Enterprise, so it's alright. _

"_You said it to me." _

_And his motion stops. _

_When the doors open, he's on deck five, his deck, his quarters are just there, down the hall, and there's someone else's, across from him. _

_Someone else's? Who? _

_S….Spock. Spock's quarters, across from his quarters across the hall. Where's Spock? Where __**is**__ every-_

"_You said it to me." _

_Voice again. Not Spock. Very female, very much Not-Spock. Deep for a female, purring, strange accent. He turns and looks. _

_She stands in the hall, just outside his reach even when he steps forward towards her. She is a tall woman, statuesque, with a face an artist would kill to paint. High, fine cheekbones and skin that is almost as black as Uhura's (Uhura? Whoissheneverminddoesn'tmatternootherwomanmatters) that contrast sharply with her eyes. Her eyes that are a stunning shade of light blue, pre-dawn blue. There are flecks of silver and gray in them. Her hair is platinum, falling in fine, straight layers almost to the floor. He's never seen hair so long. He's never seen a woman so beautiful. _

_It takes him a beat longer to realize she is completely naked._

_Her hair shields what should be covered, but merely by convenience, he thinks, not by actual desire to stay covered. She is sleek and cat-like, her breasts and butt small, stomach toned, legs and arms firm and strong and she is remarkably touchable, remarkably untouchable. Aside from her head, she seems to be utterly hairless. _

"_Who-" He steps forward again, and she does not move back this time. "Who-" _

_Her lips, full and yet somehow strong-there is strength in all of her, unbreakable, indomitable- tip upwards in a coy little smile. _

"_The only one who matters, that is who I am." She replies. "I do matter to you, don't I, Captain?" _

"_Oh yes." He says, before he can stop it. Something about her drags the words from him. "You….are…." _

"_Beautiful?" Her smile widens, and it is she who closes the gap now. "Intriguing?" Step. "__**Marvelous**__?" Step. Stop. Her hand reaches to his face. It is a slender thing, an artist's hand. Long fingers, long nails. Soft and smooth. _

_He's seen hands like hers. Somewhere. But they were male hands. They reached for his face, too, but not to caress. Not like she is reaching. They-and this was important-_

_She jerks his chin around to meet her eyes, her smile gone. "Perfect? Pay attention, Captain!" _

"…_.There's something I'm forgetting." He mutters. "Something I knew, just a moment ago, before- you-" _

"_There was never anything before me. And if there was, it no longer is __**important**__." She is hurting him. Her nails are digging into the flesh of his cheek. _

"_You're hurting." He says, voice strained as blood drips down her fingers, deep crimson red against her black skin. 'You're hurting', like a little boy to his mother, small and petulant. But it works- she gasps, yanking away. _

"_Oh!" She manages, and is all female in the sound. She looks at her hand, at his blood. When she looks up again, there are tears in her eyes. _

"_I've wounded you-I've made you bleed-James-my James-" She reaches for him again and this time he's smart, he lurches back out of reach and when he does the entire ship jolts under him. _

"_**I'll never lose you. Never." **_

"_Please don't be afraid, James." She whispers, as he leans against the wall. The ship stills, but the tears continue down her cheeks, shaking her shoulders. "Please, don't be afraid of me. I couldn't bear it. You said that to me! You said it, James!" Her sobs are coming in earnest, now. "You promised!" _

_I promised? _

"_**I'll never lose you. Never." **_

"_You promised but you left me-" _

**"**_**I have a beautiful yeoman! Have you ever noticed her Mr. Spock! You're allowed to notice her! Captain's not permitted...!**_**"**

"_You hate me-" _

"_I don't-you can't be-" _

"_**Never lose you." **_

_The lights flicker and dim, then with a sound like an explosion one bursts behind him. He jumps, skitters to the side like a startled cat. This ship is pitching again, wildly, pitching in time to her sobs, human sobs, human tears. Human blood, running down his cheek. _

"_You __**hate me**__. You resent me you hate me you want a human girl you want a girl you want you want I WANT-"_

"_**Love. You're better off without it and I'm better off without mine."**_

_Another light gone, the ship listing so violently he is thrown to the ground, thrown beside her. His words haunt him, __**mock him**__, his hurtful words, angry words, but more then that. Women. Women he has loved. Women he has not-loved but brought them here and __**made**__ love, made love to them because they can touch and feel and in the end he must always, always let them go. He must never love them too deeply because She, She owns him. And he hates her for it. _

_No. He doesn't. He doesn't! She is home, and freedom-he could no more hate-_

"_I don't hate you! I don't hate you, please, listen!" _

"_**This vessel."**_

"_STAY AWAY!" _

"_**I give."**_

"_No." _

"_**Never. Never lose you. "**_

_Gripping her arms, human arms, human flesh beneath his arms, a woman, a hurting, grieving woman who loves with all her heart and gives with all her soul. He crushes her to his chest, holds her as she pounds him, claws at his back and he neck. More blood. More blood on her hands as he grimaces and bears it. His grip is unyielding. _

"_I don't hate you. I don't hate you." Low, soothing murmur now, no longer yelling, no longer frightened. She is a woman, and she is hurt. _

"_**She takes."**_

"_You said it!" Sobbing, frantic, gasping sobs. "James, I love you. I love you more then they ever will, with their fickle hearts and their fickle minds-you said it!" _

_She is a woman, and he has hurt her. _

"_**She won't permit me my life."**_

"_I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." _

"_**I've got to live hers."**_

"_I just want-" She stops, her tears stop, her rocking and desperation stops. "You…." _

"_I want….you….James…..I…." _

"_Hush now. Hush." He wipes away her tears, tips her chin with one, gentle hand. "My beautiful lady, I love you." _

"_**Never lose you." **_

_And he kisses her, and wakes up. _


	12. Chapter 12

I know he had to've undergone the test, but damn if he's having anything like the same reaction. He's far from peaceful, but we haven't had to dive in and wake him up forcefully; and we _don't_ have to. Jim wakes with a startled little gasp but no lurching jolt of fear; he doesn't even sit up, at first. He looks from Spock- who is curled in a chair in the corner, not asleep but resting lightly- to me, sitting by his bed.

"What're you two doing?" He slurs tiredly, less angry and more simply confused. Jim has_ never_ been at his best when first waking up. Six AM or twelve noon, he's muzzy until for an hour at least.

"Just here in case." I say, as Spock uncurls like a cat. "You alright?"

He considers that for a minute. "I don't…..actually know." He says at last, slowly and haltingly. "Bones, I think I just shared an extremely passionate kiss with something that _must_ be a figment of my imagination."

Well, then. That's something you don't hear everyday, but I dare say a far cry better then yesterday's dream session.

"Well, you've kissed every other woman from here to Orion, may as well add imaginary ones to the list." I drawl. "Dream women aren't unusual, Jim."

"…..No, but I think this figment represented my ship."

Now I'm a little concerned.

"You kissed your ship? Jim, I don't think that's a part of the test. I think that means you're not allowed any more happy pills. Or anything. Ever again."

He's waking up more; his typical lopsided smile makes an appearance and he slants me a mock-annoyed look.

"_Bones_. You're just upset because I didn't need you."

"This time." I sniff, but it's only to hide my pleasure. He's laughing. Joking. He looks- okay, more then he's looked since coming here.

"You passed the second stage of your test then, I presume, Captain. Only, at the most, three more days and you will have completed it, one way or the other."

"The question is, what about you? The both of you?"

"Well, this thing hasn't expressed interest in us so far." I say. "Apparently it's managing one at a time."

"If we, in fact, attract its attention." Spock points out mildly.

"She did say 'everyone' that comes here goes through this."

"Asher also said the planet may only be interested in one of us. As Jim is the Captain, it is logical to assume he would be the….._entity's_ focal point."

"We can only hope." Jim runs a hand over his eyes and lays back down. "You two don't get to play."

I should quip back, but I can't, annoyed and touched into silence by his single-minded refusal to allow us to be in pain. This is what Jim is, at the base of it all; remarkably self sacrificing. He'd rather suffer it all himself then let us take even a little of it.

"Jim, this time was better. Maybe the tests-"

"It is logical to assume they fluctuate in difficulty." Spock interrupts. "Depending on the person's view of the subject matter."

"Spock's right." Jim's closes his eyes. "Just because one was easy doesn't mean they all will be." He shifts restlessly, tired even though he's been asleep. He'd been exhausted when they'd come back from the library, fallen almost immediately into bed without looking at the food. I'm pretty positive if I'd kept him up he would have simply passed out sitting up. There is nothing natural about the way he's gone to sleep the last two nights.

"Three more days, Jim, we'll see what happens. You get some rest now." I reach out to grip his shoulder gently, reassuringly. He gives a yawn, eyes closed.

"Bones…..you'n Spock can reach me. And me and Spock can reach you. What do we do when it's his turn?" He asks wearily, his eyes fluttering open, fighting the sudden exhaustion. Spock's eyebrows lift, and he makes that low little chuffing noise in the base of his chest that might be a laugh, if it were anyone else.

"I assure you, Captain, I will not need assistance." Spock says, his voice almost gentle. "There is nothing in my past that is unduly dramatic, and nothing a few forcefully imposed _bad dreams_ can cause me to fear."

Half human. I refuse to believe a _half human_ raised on Vulcan doesn't have something in his past this place can twist and warp to fit its purposes. And I remember the drama with Sarek, too. Just to name two things I can think of.

"Spock, that's just it, this place takes even the most harmless event and turns it into something much different." I say, standing from my chair. "Look, we'll discuss this in the morning- Jim needs some real sleep."

He nods against the pillow, already well into deeper sleep. I'm sure he's barely still with us as it is. It's early- roughly five in the morning-and I'm exhausted, too. Spock and I have been sleeping in shifts, keeping an eye on Jim. I'd only woken him up when the beginnings of the dream had come on, but apparently, it had been….unnecessary.

"Spock, you too- go get some sleep." I say. "I'm going to stay in here, just in case."

Spock nods, then clears his throat gently. "You can hardly sleep in a chair, doctor."

I'm not as young as I used to be. I firmly refuse to admit I'm getting old, but I'm not _as young_ as I used to be and sometimes my body reminds me of it. Sleeping in a chair overnight is going to make me stiff and cranky as hell.

What surprises me is that it's _Spock_ who points it out.

"Well, I'll grab a blanket or something, make a bed on the floor." I'm not thrilled at that prospect, either, but I've been camping enough times to be used to it.

"…..Doctor." Low, scolding tone, and that damnable eyebrow lifted into his hairline. "If you insist on mothering the Captain, at least recognize the simple fact that causing yourself undo discomfort in no way aids him."

"….so in English, you're worrying over me." I drawl with a smirk, arms folded across my chest. Stubborn half-breed fool can never just out and say it. "Well I'll be, Spock, who knew?"

"I am not 'worrying' over anyone." But he strides past Jim's bed, towards my temporary room. I stand to follow. "Simply pointing out that it is illogical to martyr yourself over this." I peek my head into the room to see him easily tugging the mattress off the bed, no effort in moving it at all. If Spock is twice as strong as a normal human, and only half Vulcan, I'm almost afraid of what a _full_ one can do.

I watch as he moves the mattress to the side of Jim's bed, bringing in a blanket and my pillow myself.

"That was downright thoughtful of you, Spock." I say, when I finish getting it settled.

"It's clear you are determined to hover over the Captain until this is finished." He says, as the warm glow of friendship in my stomach putters out and shrivels into a tiny little ball.

Well, maybe not _really_.

"I am indeed, Mr. Spock." I crawl onto the mattress. "Would you like me to wake you for another shift, or are you done with _your_ share of the hovering for tonight?"

I get a mild thrill of victory at his coolly offended stare, my lips twitching slightly.

"I am going to rest for the few remaining hours I can." He tells me stiffly, "and I believe it would be wise for you to do so as well."

I chuckle as he turns and leaves the room, leaning back on my hands. Our relationship is a strange one; but-but a _good_ one. Of all the things I've seen and done, coming on this ship was one of the best and without Jim and Spock I would not be the same person. I'm better for the knowing of them. I like to think they're better for the knowing of me.

"Bones? What….?"

"_Sleep_." I snap bad-temperedly up at the last, desperate dregs of his voice. He sounds beyond exhausted, the fool. "Jim, will you just give in and rest a while? We're fine. We're _fine_, Jim, I promise. Now rest."

A low laugh is given. "Not fine." He manages. "No ship. Lots of….bad memories. Crazy people. She likes you, Bones, that Rayne girl. She's madder then-" He yawns. _Lord_, he's so tired. It worries me, how tired he is. I have the feeling it will get worse. "-then a hatter, but she likes you."

"You get all the normal women." I grunt. And to my surprise, he laughs once more.

"I wouldn't say I always do. And anyway, I keep telling you I only have one woman in my life."

"Apparently one you were, against all _logic_," I grin, "kissing."

"Not funny, Bones, it wasn't-" He cuts off, in what I assume is a silent yawn. When I turn, his eyes are closed. "I'm tired."

"I've been telling you you're tired for the last fifteen minutes." I quip, peeking over the edge of his bed at him.

"Oh." And with a last, soft sigh, he falls into sleep. Which means I, at last, can also.

I lay down onto my newfound bed, dragging the covers up around my shoulders. And this time, it's not Jim that passes out.

But at least there are no nightmares of my own awaiting me.

Yet, anyway.

I don't know how long I sleep, but I wake after Spock this time; he is speaking quietly to someone. Urgently, but quietly; taking care not to wake us up. I recognize the other voice instantly as Asher-I hope he took Rayne's place in getting us breakfast this morning and nothing more serious is the matter. I don't normally have that kind of luck, though, and my cynical side is demanding that I wake up and deal with the problem, whatever it is.

I push upright, yawning a running a hand through my hair. Jim is asleep, and I _did not_ give him anything. And he hadn't taken anything without asking me, not that I'd seen. As much as he's foggy first waking up, he _is_ up, early. This sleeping so late, so deeply, is utterly unlike him. It's only one day so far and I understand if he's worn out, but it still makes the doctor in me send up silent alarms.

"Spock?" I ask, as he shuts the door and turns. He does indeed have a tray of food, but there is something disturbed in his eyes.

"Your Rayne is missing." He tells me, setting the tray down gently and taking up a cross-legged position at one end of my mattress.

"She is _not_ my-wait, missing?" I'm fully awake now. He nods, rolling a fruit along his long fingers idly.

"She disappeared last night, from what Asher has told me."

"Just her?"

The fruit stops rolling.

"No." He looks up at me, his gaze serious. "She took four others with her. All had failed the test. All were not completely 'well balanced'. Also, late last night-I assume after we finally slept-those ill enough to be confined became somewhat hysterical. It was later discovered that their hysteria corresponded with the time Rayne and her companions left."

Only Spock could sound downright _disapproving_ of the whole situation. Clamping my lips tightly shut to avoid snapping out something I'll have to apologize for later, (or at least make up for) I push myself up to my knees and touch Jim's shoulder, gently. He takes a deep breath and rolls away from my touch irritably; that by itself is somewhat reassuring.

"Do you know what happened to the people in the-" I pause, looking for the word. "….well, what functions as their medical ward?"

"From what I was told, they simply began to weep and scream."

"….All at the same time." I muse. "Like something terrible happened."

"We did agree that they, perhaps, have a 'link' with one another for a short time, did we not?" Spock asks. He's set the fruit down, hands clasped gently around his knees. "Perhaps this planet, or the force behind the planet's abilities, _also_ has that connection."

"So you think Rayne and her little following did something, the planet knew it, and the reaction-"

"Was a physical manifestation of the planet's."

We stare at each other for a minute.

"Do you realize how _insane_ that sounds?" I ask at last, my voice far more breathy then I would like.

"I would say we are in good company then, Doctor."

_Vulcans have no sense of humor my eye. That was a joke, admit it or not._

"At any rate, considering the number of things we have experienced that you would normally disregard as _insane_ or _impossible_ lead me to believe excluding any possibility is highly illogical. And unwise."

He has a point. I settle back down into a sit myself. "After Jim wakes up we'll take a walk around, see if we can find anything new out."

He pushes the tray of food to me, and I recognize the subtle reminder that I, too, need to eat. And I _do_, I guess, but I can understand Jim's weary protests of _not hungry_. Which I'm positive I'm going to get again today.

I'm starting to feel that way myself. Unlike Jim, though, I know starving myself isn't helping. I take my food, hand Spock his, and we eat in companionable silence until, from above me, Jim begins to stir. His brow furrows, and he lets out a soft breath, eyelids fluttering. It's almost like it's hard for him to wake up, like he's been unconscious instead of just asleep.

"Spock." I say, not trying to hide my concern. I set my food aside and straighten, touching his shoulder a second time. "Jim." I prod, gently, squeezing. "Hey, up you get."

Beside me, Spock sits just behind Jim, not touching but waiting. Jim shifts, restlessly, and manages to kick him; he doesn't even flinch. The contact, though, seems to bring Jim into full wakefulness- his eyes open, focusing on me.

"…Bones? Head…._ hurts_."

"I'm not surprised." I growl. "Considering you're being stubborn and won't let me help."

"I asked you not to use that phrase." He makes a low sound of pain, and I rise, moving to the medical kit in the corner.

"Hold on just a second." I reassure him absently. "I'll fix you up- or I'll get rid of the headache, anyway."

"Good enough." Jim is sitting up, now, with Spock's help. His head hangs as if he can't quite hold it up himself. I _could_ give him a stimulant, but considering I don't know what's causing his exhaustion I'm afraid that if I do I'll hurt him.

I decide to just go with the headache for now.

"How do you feel? Besides the head, I mean." I add, when he gives me a baleful stare, after I'm done medicating him.

"Like someone took a club to me. But I'll live, even if I don't like it right now." He lifts his head at last, pressing his fingers into his eyes. Then he stops, lowering the hand slowly.

"….Something's wrong." He says, voice low and husky. "Something's- wrong….Bones…."

Well, that confirms it, doesn't it? I look at Spock, who meets my gaze and nods slightly in understanding. I put my things away slowly as Spock explains to Jim the same thing he told me only an hour or so before; when I turn around, our Captain looks a little….overwhelmed.

"Maybe Spock and I should investigate." I try gently, not liking how pale he is, how he's swaying a little; this thing is having a physical effect on him as much as mental. And not eating isn't helping. "I think you just need to stay put and take it easy, Jim."

"I'm okay." He protests, that sharp, annoyed tone in his voice. He hates that when I put my foot down I _can put my foot down_, and I'm one of the only people on his ship that's able to do that with him.

"I don't think you are." I lift a brow at him. "Jim, you look-"

"Terrible?" He lifts his head, eyes boring into mine. I can still see _Jim_ there, and in a way, it's a big problem. His spirit and will have saved his life, _all_ our lives, many times. But when you're on the wrong side of it, it can be like tangling with a panther. "I'm not surprised, but I'm not going to sit in this room all day, either."

"Jim." I reach out to push him backwards, gently, firmly. "You're exhausted and haven't eaten properly in over a day."

"I'm not h-"

"Hungry, I know you're not. You never are, lately. Jim, listen to your doctor, he knows what's best for you. Just for an hour or two, _take it easy_."

"I've been _taking it easy_ since my _ship vanished_ and we became _stranded here_." His voice raises sharply, nearly yelling; but he almost seems to lack the energy for being angry.

"No, you haven't, anymore then Spock or I have. Jim, don't make me _tell_ you. I'm _asking_. Nicely. As your _friend_, not your doctor. That can change as fast as you can go from request to order yourself. So sit down and _be quiet_."

I push myself to my feet. "There's food right there." I point. "Spock, come with me- we're going to go see what we can find out about this morning."

Spock nods, as Jim looks helplessly from one to the other of us. "You two get back within the next few hours. I want to know everything you find out."

"Of course." I say, then stop, half turning. "Jim, _of course _we will." That he even needed to say it annoys me. But there is that soft darkness in his eyes again, and I feel it drain out of me, seeing that look. He rolls over on his back and tucks a hand under his head, his eyes closed.

But I can't forget the look.

I just want….we _need_….to get out of here. Oh, how we need to get home.


	13. Chapter 13

I decide I'll go to find Asher; Spock offers to take up a search for the missing parties. "Alright," I agree, chewing my lip. "And we meet back?…."

"With the Captain, in perhaps another two hours?" Spock suggests, watching the horizon.

"Sounds fair." I take a breath. "She was a crazy little creature, but I hope she's alright." I admit softly, half laughing. She really _was_ very pretty, and seemed harmless enough; any other situation and I may have been…._tolerant_ of her rather intense….um, _interest_ in me. I don't like the thought of her being hurt- she'd reminded me of a fawn, innocent and playful.

"If she is unharmed, I shall inform her of your sentimentalism, Doctor."

I jerk my gaze to him, with his blank mask and flat voice; but his eyes sparkle, far deep down, in that smothered way, and his eyebrows are up and head tipped at _just_ that right angle to tell me he's laughing.

It's strange, how often I forget how easy it really is to read our unemotional, logical Mister Spock sometimes. And how often I forget it.

"You will do no such thing." I tease back, smiling. "Careful, Spock, I might turn her on to those ears- she wouldn't be the first women to fall for 'em."

His brow lifts even higher. "I do not believe it is my _ears_ that women are attracted to, doctor."

Well. At least he damn well can admit girls look at him cross eyed. If he had tried to deny it I may have had to chuck something heavy at his head. Vulcans may only _mate_ once every seven years, but I doubt very much that's the only time they ever, at the very least, appreciate the beauty of a woman.

Every race appreciates that, even if it's not in the way we do.

"No, it's that Vulcan modesty." I quip. "They just can't resist it."

Spock gives me the _not smile_ and points towards the building Asher is in. "I believe you wanted to speak to him." He says, completely avoiding the conversation-while he's got more of a sense of humor then he lets on, teasing still sometimes makes him awkward, not _completely_ sure how to react beyond a line or two. Besides, Asher _is_ in view, stepping out of the building. The moment he sees us, he lifts a hand, waving me to him. He looks more then a little disturbed, and the heavy weight that's been sitting in my gut for the past two days returns with full force.

I turn back but Spock is already headed towards the edge of the colony, his long stride carrying him away without having to hurry. I lean back on my heels, letting Asher come to me rather then meeting him halfway. He's already jogging over, anyway.

"Is your Captain well?" Is the first thing out of his mouth- I rock forward again and raise a brow.

"Well, he's not fantastic, but he's surviving." I drawl. "I hear there was some excitement this morning."

"Last night is more accurate, but yes." Asher's smile falls, and he takes my arm, tugging me gently to one side. I let him do it. "That's why I wondered if your Captain-"

"Nothing unusual occurred to us." I say. "Though he _did_ know something was wrong this morning."

"Maybe you can help." He says. "A few of the people- they hurt themselves, when it happened."

I shrug- it might give me the chance to get more answers, and if they need care, I'm not going to refuse them. "Of course." I reply. "Anything serious?"

"No. But every hand on deck we can get is helpful."

"And how is Sparrow?"

He stops, letting out a soft breath. "She's…..what happened made her worse. She won't acknowledge anyone now, even me."

I look away, feeling sick. That kind of madness- there's nothing anyone can do here for her. Not even I can. In the proper facilities, with the proper equipment- hell, even on the _ship_ there would be more I could do.

"I'm afraid she's going to die." He admits softly, eyes closed. "Just because she doesn't want to live."

I've seen that happen before. It makes you feel frustrated, lost- you do everything you can, everything you _should_, and the person you are fighting so hard to save is still gone because they didn't want it. After the few couple of times, you learn not to let it eat at you; learn to understand you couldn't have done a thing in the world to change it.

It doesn't make it any easier. But if you blame yourself for every death, for every failed attempt, you'd become an alcoholic at best.

I don't want to think about what else you might do to yourself.

"You have to give her reason to want it, Asher." I say, gently, pausing to look at him. "You love her very much, don't you?"

"I do." He agrees softly, looking down and away from me.

"Then don't let her forget it." I suggest. "She's been badly hurt- she needs to know it won't cause you to abandon her."

"I would never-"

"_I_ know that, but does she?" I ask.

"She- I've never given her cause _not_ to believe it."

"There's a difference between that and assuring her you do. Especially now."

He nods, meeting my eyes once again. "I know." He says softly, shifting in a way that is almost….uncomfortable. Again, the alarm rings quietly in my head. Something feels so _off_ here, and I can't out my finger on what. There's so much to take in that one specific thing is hard to focus on.

"Let's get these people taken care of, Asher." I say gently, letting the subject veer off.

"But the missing people-"

"Mr. Spock is searching for them. If he needs help, I'm guessing a party will be formed." I assure him, biting my lip and glancing back to where Spock left. "Right now, our concern is the men and women _here_. The ones we can help _now_."

Asher lets out a breath, nods. "You're right." He says carefully, starting to walk once more. "I just-" He stops, shaking his head.

I understand. The helplessness, the hurt.

"You know," I say quietly, putting a hand on his shoulder. "One of my best friends is going through very nearly the same thing."

He flicks a gaze to me, understanding in his eyes, and nods. I know how hard it is to just stand by and watch, and he understands that he can tell me anything he might need to. Find me, if he needs it. He understands, I can see it.

For the fourth time since coming here, I find myself in a room full of people in their own personal hells.

The men and women from yesterday are here again, moving from cot to cot, person to person; when I step in, I am instantly grabbed by a silver-eyed man with curly blonde hair much like Jim's own; the difference being that if _Jim_ doesn't cut his hair it forms a poof that gets progressively taller. This man's hair falls in waves around his shoulders.

"Here, come over here." He says, dragging me away from Asher, who is moving back to Sparrow's side. I fight the hold at first, both resisting at being pulled but also at being dragged away from Asher. The moment I realize what I'm doing I stop, but I've already caused him to look at me oddly, and probably made a slightly less then thrilling impression. But I do what I've come here to do, anyway, working from one person to the next, anyone who I can get close enough to. Which is almost all of them; only one or two seem to dislike my proximity. I'm not sure _how_ much time passes before my communicator begins to chirp for a second time- I excuse myself and step out.

"McCoy," I answer, and almost before I get the word out Spock's voice is coming over the little machine.

"Doctor, you are aware you were intended back here nearly one half hour ago."

Say _what_ now?

"I-" I blink, rub my eyes which have started to burn. "I must have lost track of time."

"Evidently." Spock is practically sniffing at me over the communicator; I can _see_ the disapproval hidden in his gaze, even with him buildings away from me.

"Did you find the girl?" I ask, headed towards the pair. There is a long pause, and then Spock's voice again, slow, cautious.

"I did." He replies. "And the rest of the missing persons."

His voice sets my hackles up. I _know_ that tone. I've heard it too often- had to use it even more.

"Spock?"

"….I do not think I will be expressing your sentimentalism." He says, with that gentle quality in his voice I've only heard once or twice before. It still hits hard.

"She's-"

"We'll discuss it when you arrive."

"Well, I'm more then halfway there." I grunt, but Spock doesn't reply and I know he's done discussing it. Growling, I tuck my own communicator away and cross to the building we are staying in. Once I step into the room, I notice that Jim is sitting up and alert. Pacing, in fact, and that is not unusual. I'm glad to see it, actually; a Jim who won't be still is a Jim who is as normal as it is possible for him to be. It is a Jim who is _okay_- who is thinking, planning, who has pulled himself together and is recovering.

"Bones." He turns as I walk in, and I feel tension leak away subtly. He looks like _himself_ again. There is still an odd weariness to his face, but his eyes are clear and open, and when he looks at me, he looks at me with the cool confidence I am far, far more used to seeing and comfortable with. But there is also deep-rooted concern there, and the compassion for which I have come to know him.

"I'm sorry." He says. "I know she was just an acquaintance, and a mad one at that, but the fact is you cared for her."

"So she is dead, then." I say, softly, the last of my home plummeting away. "Yeah, I guess I did, poor kid."

"They're _all_ dead, Bones." Jim replies, gentle instance in his voice. "Mass suicide, all five of them."

"Mass _suicide_?" I echo. "Their madness drove them so far?"

Jim lowers his head and eyes. "If what they saw is anything like what I've been seeing, I'm not completely surprised." He says softly, licking his lips in thought.

"Consider what you saw of the remaining ill people." Spock says quietly from where he stands. He has a point; some of them didn't seem far from it, either.

"So I guess we were right." I say, taking a breath and pushing Rayne's death to the back of my mind for now. "They killed themselves, the planet- or whatever it is- _felt _it-"

"And the reaction 'dominoed' so to speak." Spock finishes my thought pensively. "Manifesting at last in the form of the panic."

"So we can assume this…._being_…..doesn't _want_ death." I say cautiously, sitting back on my mattress again. Jim narrowly avoids stepping on me.

"The locals seem firm in the believe that it is a benevolent force." Spock adds. "Even after the deaths were discovered, they would not blame the tests they underwent."

"Well, maybe it is." I say, hating to be the one to point it out but it's _true_. We might hate what it's doing, hate being manipulated like this- but it hasn't done anything openly _aggressive_ towards anyone. I don't even know if it can, though I imagine if the force wanted to it could find a way.

"You think a creature that does this to innocent people is _benevolent?_" Jim demands, but without anger; he's mostly just confused, worried.

"Asher talked to me yesterday." I say slowly, careful to make sure Jim knows my thoughts are my _own_ and not something Asher scammed me into believing. I'm not that simpleminded and he knows it. "He pointed out that for passing the tests they get an option of this amazing gift. Which, let's face it, _is_ amazing. And yes, if they fail there's the _chance_ they could loose their minds. It's happened, apparently, and more then once- in some cases to a deeper extreme then others. But, Jim-" I spread my hands helplessly, rationalizing this to myself as much as them. It makes more sense, saying it out loud instead of letting it chase itself in circles around my head. "Being the captain of a starship has the same possible repercussions. We've _seen_ that for ourselves. People go mad, they _die_ in space. If I've said it once I've said it a thousand times- it's _dangerous. _We _all_ know that, and we go in knowing that. But you- _we_- do it anyway, because the rewards are worth the risk. You've said that a hundred times. Maybe we're dealing with the same situation in a different way here. To these people, the _rewards_ are worth the _risk_ of taking this test." I stop at last, lowering my hands and my gaze.

"And what about us, Bones?" Jim asks softly, after a long pause to digest my words. "We didn't _choose_ to take this test. We don't want the prize offered for passing. We came down here to do our job and wound up being kidnapped and stranded here by some force that decided we were _interesting_. Forced into something that only causes pain, utterly pointless besides being used for entertainment!" His voice raises to a near-yell at the end.

"Perhaps not entirely true." Spock speaks up for the first time since the debate began to get heated. We both turn to face him, where he is studying Jim intently.

"Explain." Jim barks, and all I can think is _you'd better have a damn good one_ because he does not look thrilled.

Spock does not seem ruffled, though, not that he ever does. Coolly, he goes on. "These tests use events from the past to pick up on fears, doubts, uncertainties, regrets. This force could, presumably, manufacture from pure imagination things every bit as traumatic as real life incidents- or even more so, in some cases. Yes, the past events are 'warped', twisted into something much darker then it was originally perceived, but no more then typical human _guilt_ would do so in an everyday nightmare. This has been referred to as a 'test' the entire duration of our stay. Even we have begun to call it such. A test implies _something_ is being evaluated. But it is not always the evaluators that benefit from such a test. Often- most notably as children- they are used to teach the person being tested."

I bite my lip as I remember Asher saying that the pasts were twisted no more then we saw them as being; Spock's hit the nail on the head. Not that I'm going to say it.

"So what, you're implying this thing is trying to-to-teach us something?" Jim asks, frowning hard. "By driving us mad?"

"Not everyone passes the test." I say quietly, not looking up at them. "Just like not every kid passes a pop quiz."

"Yeah, but the problem is there are no retries here." Jim snaps. "You can't study harder and try again."

"Indeed. But I believe the basic idea is the same." Spock continues. "Perhaps what or whoever is creating these situations, these tests, is doing so to force realization on you. Realization of _what_ I do not know; personal, most likely, to whomever is being tested."

"….Your last two dreams." I say. "The first one was-"

"I _know_ what they were about." He interrupts me sharply.

"But did you learn anything?" I ask, pushing gently. _C'mon, Jim. C'mon._

"What was I supposed to learn from dream like those?" He demands, then takes a breath, reining his temper in. I see him temper it, calm it, his gaze turning inward thoughtfully.

"I was…..guilty….and afraid you wouldn't-" He stops, voice halting, as Spock and I both turn to attention. Jim is not good at this. It's always been hard for him to admit insecurity, and he usually has to be drunk or something first. We don't have that luxury right now. So we sit, patient and quiet, and let him work through it. "I don't know, it felt like….if you knew…."

"But we do know." I say softly, even as Spock sits forward, quiet and unable to extend the same support and comfort I can, but for Jim, his mere presence is enough. Sometimes, those two almost seem _connected_ somehow.

Sometimes, it feels like we _all_ are. I remember that feeling from the link between Jim, Spock and I only nights before and get another odd little shiver. It doesn't _scare_ me, exactly, it's just…..new. Very, very new to _acknowledge_ it.

Jim looks at me now, his eyes intense and boring into mine and then he shifts his gaze to Spock before lowering his head.

"I suppose," Slow, dragging out each word. Rare for him; Jim is a fast thinker and therefore is a fast _speaker_ most of the time. "I am learning some things from all this." I don't expect him to say what. He might, but I don't expect it. And I don't demand it. Beside me, Spock nods gravely, pushing to his feet.

"So you think these tests are made to….force a person who see things about themselves they deny?"

"Or to come to terms with things that haunt them." Jim affirms. "I can't say I'll ever let go of…..the way I feel about some things, and I can't really say that dreaming about it _helped_, but it did make me realize something I think I'd started to loose sight of." He gives us both a mischievous grin. "You two aren't going to let me wallow. And I can't…..I couldn't….." He stops, then his smile gentles. "You two keep me sane as much as you drive me crazy." He finishes gruffly but honestly. "I think I need you."

"Well of course you do." I grunt. "_Someon_e has to keep you alive." The feeling is intensifying. Screw it, I let it happen. Why should I be afraid of it?

Jim, Spock; they're my friends. My _best_ friends, and I do love them. Oh, not in any romantic way- but I do love them.

My….. brothers. Hu. Look at that. My brothers. Sounds right. Feels right.

Jim is chuckling at my reply, and glances over at Spock, who does not look comfortable and probably is wishing we'd stop. "Yeah, well, you two do a good job of that, when you're not killing each other."

"If the Doctor would not persist in nipping at my heels like a small dog-"

_Pop! Well, there goes the mood, but that doesn't make what was said any less true, I guess._

"Excuse me, a _what_ now?"

"No worse then the plethora of insults you managed to appropriate for myself every evening-"

"Gentlemen, _please_!…."


	14. Chapter 14

The laughter doesn't last, of course. There is a funeral procession hours later, near dusk; bodies in boxes being carried past each building in a slow, somber march down the colony. The families are there, some with silver eyes and some without. All are weeping, and it's been raining.

_All day_.

Not only that, but we still have the problem of Jim. I at last managed to get some food down him, if only half a plate of lunch and no more, and he is curled in a chair near the far wall now, a book in his hands. Spock is stretched out on Jim's bed, head turned to watch me as I watch the funeral.

"May I express my sympathy, doctor?" He says quietly, after a long pause. "I know you barely knew her, but you seemed to be fond of her none the less."

"I was." I say softly, but I turn away from the window. Rayne is dead, and there is nothing I can do for the dead as a doctor or a friend. I learned that the hard way, a long time ago. But I _am_ both a doctor _and_ a friend, and my concern is for the living.

And I am very much concerned.

_At least I got some food down him_. "It doesn't matter now, though." I say, pulling the curtains closed. "She's…..she and all the others, there's nothing I can do for them. There never was, not without more then I had. If I had been able to get Rayne to the ship, then, maybe-"

"Don't." Jim says, lifting his eyes to me. "Bones, it would take months to help her. Months and the proper facilities. You couldn't have done anything for her. Or them."

I know that, too. But just because I _know_ it doesn't make part of me ache at my inability to save her. I can't get those eyes out of my head, those doe-like blue eyes under her thick, soft hair. Gentle, full lips and a piping, cheerful voice that never seemed sad or doubtful. So young. So beautiful.

"It seems the planet is mourning them." Spock points out quietly. "It has rained constantly."

"Mourning them? _It_ killed them, Spock!" I snap, bristling sharply.

"I was simply making an observation, Doctor." He doesn't even switch his dark gaze to focus directly on me. "I doubt very much it intended death."

"We already had this conversation." Jim says. "Or something very like it."

"We're talking in circles." I rap out a frustrated beat on a chair back thoughtfully.

"Whatever it's intention, we have a minimum of two days left here." Spock says, pushing up on one elbow. "And if the doctor and I are tested, a maximum of fifteen."

"_Fifteen_ days trapped here? Watching you two have to get through this? No. I won't do it." Jim hisses, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose.

"Jim we don't have much _choice_-"

"I _will not_ do it!" He slams the book shut with enough force to make me jump even though I'm looking right at him. Spock, ever unflappable, just twists around to face him calmly. We both recognize the undeniable signs- Jim has been pushed too far. He is the kind of person who will give ground only so far before he begins pushing back, and backing him into a corner is a _bad way_ to try and get anything out of him.

"Do you have an alternate solution?" Spock asks pointedly, knowing Jim doesn't. We both know that, and he confirms it.

"No." He growls. "I don't. But I'll think of something. I might need your help but I _will_ think of something. There's got to be a way out of this." His voice fades near the end of the statement, and he leans his head back, exhaustion etching it's way onto his forehead. I stand, feeling myself wilt at the return of it.

"Come on, Jim, time for bed." I say, even though it's barely dusk. It seems like he's tiring earlier and earlier.

"All I've been doing is sitting in this building in _bed_." He growls, as I take him arm and tug him upright. Spock deserts the mattress to allow Jim to reclaim it. "We haven't _done_ anything but let ourselves be lead around by the nose."

"You're in no shape to go hunting around the planet on a rampage looking for an invisible entity." I inform, even as he has to grab my shoulder to steady himself. "See? Now this thing is taking a physical toll on you and you won't _eat_ like I keep telling you too, so you're making it worse. You just need to stay quiet and still until this passes. _Then_, maybe we can worry about what to do next."

I lay him back on the bed, and his head and eyes roll away from me, glaring at the wall with his jaw clenched. He hates feeling helpless. We all do, but Jim tends to shoulder the weight of everyone and forget we're capable of bearing some of the burden ourselves. I give his shoulder a pat, wincing as the rain comes down harder.

"They must be getting soaked." I mutter.

"At least they won't get sick. Most of them, anyway." Jim's black humor doesn't help. I pat once more, maybe harder then I need to, and he flinches, rolling away. "Bones, there's nothing you can do in here if you want to say goodbye to her."

"I met her twice, Jim."

"I know." He looks back at me, meets my eyes seriously. "I only knew Rayna a few hours."

"That was _different_, Jim, you spent most of your time with her, got to know her-"

"And had no idea she was an android." He raises a brow at me. It doesn't hurt for him to talk about her any more. Doesn't hurt for him to think about her.

I'd gotten it out of Jim that Spock had 'muted' her memory, hadn't erased her or his feelings but had tamped them down. Made them more bearable. Reminded him that he was not alone and had no call to be lonely.

For all his disdain of human emotions, Spock can be one of the most compassionate creatures I have even known. That day, I lectured him on love. That day, I told him that I pitied him because he would never know it, never understand it, never _share_ it.

When I found out what he'd done, I had felt a surge of shame. And the longer I know them, the more I'm around them, the more I wish I could take those words back. Spock will never know a passionate, whirl-wind relationship, maybe. He will never know love the way _we_ understand it.

But I was wrong that day. I was wrong and cruel and vicious because my best friend was hurting, so I lashed out at my _other_ closest friend because I knew I could hurt him.

I pulled a James Kirk, in other words. I'd also told him what I'd said to Spock, and he'd only listened quietly, eyes half lidded, and said he understood, and _he_ wasn't angry. But he was disappointed, he'd said softly, that I had so failed to understand the third part of our trio.

And so am I.

"Jim." I shake my head, jerking out of my memories and the flare of self-reproach that comes with them. "I'm not going out there." He needs me in here. Besides, I feel almost like I'd be intruding.

"It's up to you." He says softly, tucking a hand under his head and closing his eyes.

"I wish it was." I mutter, not meaning the choice, glancing back out the window before drawing closed the shutters. "Come on, Spock, let's have Jim get some rest." I say softly as I do. Jim himself doesn't react, and Spock moves silently to my shoulder.

"We'll take turns keeping an eye on him again?" I ask, and he gives a nod.

"I will stay with him first, Doctor." He says quietly, and if I didn't know better I'd say it was almost with understanding that he moves between me and the window. "Perhaps rest is the best course of action for yourself, as well, for the moment."

"There you go worrying over me again." I say, but I can't help but smile.

"Doctor, I assure you, I am not-"

"Easy, Spock, I'm just teasing you."

He doesn't reply to that, just gives me the Eyebrow and a slight tilt of his head. "Goodnight." I say pointedly, even though it's not night and neither of us plan on even nearing sleep just yet. He'll read until it's time to wake me up. I'll probably do the same until I manage to get some sleep. And then it'll be his turn. And hopefully, it'll prove to be unnecessary again. Sometimes, you dread being needed. I'd rather be _not_ needed then see Jim like this.

Any day.


	15. Chapter 15

_There is no cage, no door, no lock, no cell, but he is trapped._

_He has seen his crew, his friends, die. He has seen them fall as his Enterprise rips in half. He has heard the shrill of metal tearing, the screams of a dying ship louder even then the alarms going off constantly, constantly. Blood and pain and death and fear all around because he made the wrong choice, zigged when he was supposed to zag, and he can't do that, can't be wrong, can't be. He is the captain and he is the only thing for them between life and death and he failed, weakened, lost them, lost **her**._

_And he is trapped._

_It is very dark wherever he is but he doesn't care. Doesn't care about anything because all her can remember is_

_(nothing, he can't remember anything he just knows- he knows-)_

_that he failed, that he killed them with his choice and there is no Enterprise, no Bones, no Spock, no Sulu or Chekov or Uhura, no anyone but James Kirk and he wishes, oh how he wishes that was not true._

_(What happened? What happened? Why can't you remember? You would remember it.)_

_Footsteps in the dark , and a voice by his ear, rasping and wheezing and low, harsh voice_

_"Reckless."_

_and stupid and foolish and they're gone and you're alonealonealonealone-_

_"You were too reckless."_

_Alone in the dark and lost in the dark and what happened what **happened**_

_"You killed them, Jim."_

_He knows the voice. He knows it like he has every other voice (where did that come from?) and it sends a chill down him, that ruined, broken voice_

_"You killed **us**, Jim."_

_that used to be so soothing. That voice like molasses over gravel, sweet and slow with a touch a rasp, lilting up in play and companionship_

_"Just like everyone else."_

_And never so flat and empty as it is now_

_"Aw, Jim-"_

_Shouldn'tbelikeitisnowplease_

_"-you afraid of ol' **bones**?"_

_please._

_The hand that reaches out is skeletal and bare of flesh, and it grips his face like a vase and rips his skin, rips it and forces his face and eyes up to the leering skull grinning down at him, tattered uniform clinging to a body just as devoid of flesh as the hand still gripping him. He cries out at last, cracks the hand away and dives back. The figure is gone._

_There is no reassuring **something** at the back of his mind. It should be there, it was there last time (last time?) and it should be in his mind. He doesn't know what it is or why he knows he's missing it, but he is and he is **utterly alone**. He hates being alone. He's always been terrified of it. But now he deserves it, deserves to be alone, helplessly alone, terrifyingly alone._

_Because they are dead, _

_(but you-)_

_because he killed them. _

_(don't even remember it)_

_He is trapped and alone and it's so, utterly dark-_

_But he deserves no better. _

_(why don't you remember it?) _

"_Stop it!" He yells, clamping his hands over his ears. He closes his eyes, as if it would make a difference in that dark. "I don't know, stop it!" _

_(He would never hate you-!) _

_Would he? Bones….his Bones, his Leonard McCoy, he wouldn't do that. Would he? _

_ifyougothimkilled_

_No. No, Bones would-wouldn't-_

_hewould. _

_No-_

_hewould_

_No!_

_thenwhyisn'thehere?_

_He doesn't know but he knows his McCoy would not- _

_Heisn'therebecausehe'sdeadhe'sdeaddeaddeaddeaddead_

_-hate him, wasn't capable of hating almost anyone_

_almostanyone. _

_(Not you. Never you!) _

_thenwhy-_

_I don't know, but this is wrong. _

_It's wrong. I would- I would remember-I would remember-_

_I would remember destroying my girl. I would never be able to forget. _

_Bones. Would not. Hate me. Annoyed at me, frustrated at me, worried for, concerned about, flat-out seeing-red wet cat angry, but he would never hate me. And Spock….Spock would never want to leave me alone. Not like this, not hurt and confused. He wouldn't stand for it. He and McCoy, they care about me, they're my friends, my brothers, even if I did make a foolish move they would not want this. _

_thenwhyaren'ttheyhere? _

Because he doesn't know I'm dreaming.

This is a dream-no. This is a test.

Spock, Bones- you'd better come.

I'm going to need you.

This ends right now.

The world around him lightens, intensifies, and suddenly he is outside, on what looks like earth; he is surrounded by green and growing things, things he loves, he has _always_ loved; nature. But the sky is black and rolling with storm clouds; a vicious wind whips his hair, beats at him, and the anger, the confusion is palpable. This thing does not like that he has not_ passed_ this round of the test but seen through it.

It does not like it at all. But James Kirk is very used to doing things others don't care for, and usually for the good of everyone involved. Like it or not.

And he's not going to stop now.

______________________________________________________________________________

"Doctor. Wake up." Spock is shaking me. "Doctor, I believe Jim is in trouble. Or at the very least, needs assistance."

I come out of sleep more slowly then usual, but hell, I'm _tired_. It's been a long two days, and my nerves are sitting right on the edge of raw.

"Why do you think that?" I murmur as I wake up, blinking, yawning. I reach for Jim on the-

Jim, who should be on the-

"Where the _hell_ is Jim?!"

I'm awake now, yes, thank you. I shoot up on my knees, looking at the empty bed, the Vulcan who is staring at me somberly.

"He left no more then five minutes ago." He moves back, letting me get to my feet.

"And you just let him _go_? Spock!"

"I doubted the wisdom of stopping him." Spock says. "He seemed quite drawn somewhere."

"And you thought we'd just see where he tottered off to?"

"Perhaps wherever he's going is where we need to be." Spock points out, as I grab my medical kit and the tricorder. "I do not believe he was 'tottering', either."

"Figure-of-speech-Spock." I grit, in absolutely no mood whatsoever for alien misunderstandings of colloquialisms. If that can be called one. We break into a jog as we reach the door- and the would be guard, who is soundly asleep in front of it.

"Where?" I bark, and Spock grabs my arm- one of the few times he's ever touched me of his own accord- pulling me to the left. We go from a jog to a bolt, out into the darkness of the colony. He must _have_ been making good time, because when we get to the edge of the colony we still don't see him.

"He came this way-" Spock says.

"Spock, the colony isn't exactly shut inside walls! He could have gone anywhere!" I toss my hands up. "Five minutes head start and he disappears." I can only hope I'm not more right then I realize. If he _literally_ disappeared, then we're up a creek without a paddle. I don't even know where to _start_ in that situation.

"Spock, McCoy, here, this way!" Asher's voice. Asher's voice?

Spock and I both turn where the man stands, just outside the sick ward. "Your friend took off that direction!"

He's pointing, I realize, at the clearing Sparrow's scream first came from.

This is it, then.

One way or another, this is all about to come to a head.

Spock and I race in that direction, race towards Jim, and I, for one, am praying we get there in time.

He's going to need us.


	16. Chapter 16

_The clearing is large. There are mountains just at the horizon, and a tree line slightly closer- the grass is tall around his legs, easily knee length. It's really very pretty here; reminds him just a touch of his own piece of property he calls home. Wildflowers grow __**everywhere**__ he can see; a wide plethora of colors and shapes, flowers he's never seen before in colors he never imagined. _

"_Very pretty." He says out loud. "Should I take some of these back to Rayne's funeral?" _

_Above him, thunder rumbles powerfully, and the wind suddenly sweeps up again. The flowers and grass bend under it's force, and an odd 'ripple' crosses the surface of everything, like stepping into water. _

_When it clears, he finds himself staring at a woman. Rayna, to be precise, and as she had the first time she snatches his breath away for a moment now. Her huge doe eyes, her soft, thick hair, her face, her body; all female, all beautiful, just as he remembers. _

_There is nothing about the female body he does not find intoxicating; and not in a lewd way, either. Their smell, their softness, the full lips and large, expressive eyes-the hair, the shape of them, curved gently, plump in just the right places, the small hands and quick fingers. How sensitive they were to touch. _

_The female mind is in itself a mystery he could spend months figuring out- their coy intelligence, their depth of feeling, the strength and passion, the love and willingness to accept and give all she could, the compassion and gentleness that seemed to be a woman at her center-and so much more. _

_Rayna is a perfect example of all of these things, but of course she is. She has to be. _

_She's…..or she wasn't, originally…..not human. Android, she was created by a….by….heh. Well. He'd said it before. A very old, very lonely man had created her, and a very young, very lonely man had fallen in love with her. They'd __**both**__ loved her, and she'd loved them, and it had killed her. If it was possible for her to die. _

_She'd been gone, that's all he knows, and she'd seemed completely human at the time. But she is not really here, now, and he's glad he knows this is a dream. She can't be here, anyway, because she's on another planet if she's been rebuilt, retaught, and it's not the same one anyway, as dumb as that sounds. _

"_That is not real." He says calmly, as the wind bends the flowers under his feet and snatches her blonde hair away from her face. "We're done playing games here, whoever you are!"_

_Rayna does not disappear. She approaches him instead, slowly, her long legs moving gracefully through the high foliage without tripping. He backs away as she gets closer but only so far- soon she's in front of him, stroking his face. _

"_Not real?" She asks in that innocent little tone she'd had, head tilted. "But you said I was." _

_He grits his teeth and closes his eyes, fighting the urge to comfort her, reassure her. Her hand is soft on his cheek, her body pressed against his, fitting, conforming to him as if she was made for him. He wants to put his arms around her, hold her. _

_But this isn't real, __**she's**__ not real. This is a dream, a test, it's not real, it's not real. _

"_I'm real." She whispers, but her voice is different. Brisk English accent, gentle voice with a core of steel. He closes his eyes again, bracing himself. "Real and human, here in your arms where I have always wanted to be, offering you peace and happiness." Her other hand comes to the other side of his cheek. "A chance to never be lonely again. You're so….painfully lonely, darling. I will not let you be alone. I will not let you be sad. I've forgiven you, Jim, can't you see? I've forgiven you and we can be together now." _

"_You're not here, Edith." He whispers. "No more then Rayna was." The hands on his face move down to his shoulders, tiny, soft, delicate, caressing. _

"_I'm here." She says. "If I wasn't, could I do this?" And she crushes her lips to his, arms flung around his neck. He instinctively brings his own arms around her body, surprise causing him to react without thought. It is only another minute before his brain catches up, though, and he's pushing her away, holding her at arm's length. _

"_Stop it!" He snarls at the air. "This isn't going to make me quit!" _

"_Who __**are**__ you talking to, Jim?" She asks, head tipped, brown eyes pure innocence. "There's no one here but us."_

"_Me. There's no one here but __**me**__." He says, forcing his hands off her shoulders. How he wishes he could leave them there. _

"_Stop using tricks and illusions and __**show yourself**__, you coward!" He snarls, putting his back to Edith. _

_It is a mistake. _

________________________________________________________________________________

The clearing seems to glow with a light of it's own, I realize. It's dark outside, so dark that I have to hold onto Spock to keep from falling; he can see better then I can, and moves like a cat. He doesn't seem to notice or care that I'm using him as a guide, running with the same single-minded intensity towards Jim that I am. It's as lush as the rest of this planet, with thick, green grass and flowers, beautiful, exotic flowers that fill the air with a hundred different scents. This is a rather flat place, but a very fertile one.

And the moment we get close, it's not as dark. We slow, faltering uncertainly, as we see Jim standing, quietly, in the center of the field. He's shirtless, and unmoving, staring at something we can't see. His back is to us, and he's stiff as a board. Even as we watch, he turns, but his eyes don't see us. His lips move, and I can't hear a word he says.

"Barrier?" I ask.

"Not one meant to keep us out." Spock extends a hand in front of him. No resistance.

"When we tried to help Sparrow, Asher said 'she has to do this alone'."

"We did not know her." Spock points out, as Jim begins to back up, lips still moving. I recognize the fiery, unyielding passion in his eyes. Something's got his dander well and truly up, and he's not backing away submissively. He's keeping distance between himself and perceived danger. "We were told Jim might depend on our presence."

"We were." I say, nodding slightly. Jim has stopped retreating, apparently hit the barrier. His hands and body are pressed flush against it. Cornered. Trapped.

That's our cue, isn't it?

I step forward through the whatever-it-is surrounding this place. It's like walking through a wall of jelly. My movements are slowed, and the thick, sticky stuff tugs uncomfortably at my body. I have the uneasy sensation that if I don't keep pushing forward, I'll be caught here forever, unable to back out or go on. Gritting my teeth I push through it, and with a sudden _pop_ I am on the other side. I hear Spock gasp softly as he, too, comes through. Turning to look at him, I realize there is another reason why he is startled.

The grass is taller. Much taller. The flowers are more dense. There are _mountains_, just out of sight, and a forest nearer to us.

"Those are not supposed to be here." I point out numbly.

"Neither is _that_, I believe, doctor." It's Spock's turn to point, in the opposite direct as me. I turn to look, and feel my stomach churn warningly.

There is blood _everywhere_. It is moving, creeping slowly outwards, expanding in all directions, engulfing everything it can. One oozing mass of _living blood_.

And it is cornering Jim.

________________________________________________________________________________

_The moment his back is to her he is aware that the sound of her, the feel of her at his back, is terribly __**wrong**__, and he spins around just in time to avoid being struck across the head. Gary Mitchell is behind him, long dead-and-buried Gary Mitchell. _

_Not real, he reminds himself fiercely, not real, it's __**not real**__. _

"_Want to see how real I am, Captain?" Mitchell asks, his voice that inhuman, hollow thing it had been before his death. _

"_I want to __**see**__ the wizard behind the curtain. You __**are not real**__. You died. I-saw you die." He drawls sarcastically at first, hesitantly after, wondering if __**everyone**__ got pushed to this point, if __**everyone**__ realized what their tests were and did precisely what he was doing now and this was why they went mad or didn't. He wonders if these last few images are what finally pushes them over the edge. _

_Because Gary is literally falling apart in front of him. Flesh, blood, muscle, tendon- all melting away, washing clean off his skeleton. He is leering, laughing, and his eyes flash blue-silver-blue-silver, dizzying and heartbreaking. _

_And he is dead again, blood and cloth the last things to fall away, forming a pool at his feet that quickly spreads and grows. Jim backs away hurriedly, but it is getting bigger and deeper and won't stop advancing. _

"_You did see me die." Gargles a horrible voice from the spreading pool. "Because you couldn't save me. Hardly even tried, did you? __**Did you**__?" _

_He firms his jaw, realizes he can't go further back. It's as if he's hit a force field. "I don't have to defend myself to an illusion." He snarls. "I want to see who's behind this!" _

_**You**__ are behind it, James Kirk. _

_The voice is new and different, and he lifts his head to the sky. _

"_Who-" _

_The blood touches his shoe. With a disgusted grunt, he lifts his foot, trying to edge around the stuff. It moves to cut him off, and there is a horrible, burbling laugh. _

"_Who __**are**__ you, and what do you want?" _

_For you to pass or fail, of course. Isn't that the point of every test? _

"_Every test doesn't end in the deaths of innocent people." _

…_.that was not intentional. And I very much regret that it happened. _

"_So you think that makes it better, that you're __**sorry**__?" _

_Oh, Jim, do you honestly have room to rant at me about the death of an innocent? Their fate was less my fault then those that died from knowing you were yours. _

"_Excuse me, what now?" _

_The voice makes him jolt around, twisting like a startled animal to see Leonard McCoy striding purposely towards him. Around the spreading taint of blood, carefully, until he standing at Jim's side. Alive. Whole. Real. Unharmed. _

"_No one has died from 'knowing' the Captain." Cool, reasonable voice from his other side. Making his way up that direction is Spock. "Granted, men and women have died while under his command, but this is a well known risk when serving aboard any vessel." _

_And he is not alone. Spock on one side of him and Bones on the other, as it always had been, was always supposed to be. They would never let him be alone. _

"_And not a single one blames him like you've been trying to twist it to be." Bones adds, head up, back straight. "__**Nothing's**__ like what you're trying to twist it to be." _

"_My friends, my crewmembers, the woman I have loved, my __**ship**__- how __**dare**__ you try to use them against me like this?" Jim hisses, his head high,, his eyes flashing. "I __**demand**__ you show yourself, here, now." _

_The blood is gone with a second ripple. The grass whips wildly around their feet, the mountains disappear, the forest, and above them the storm intensifies. They bow under the force of the wind, but Jim reaches out to steady McCoy and Spock steadies Jim, other hand braced against the force behind them. Holding each other, bracing each other, hands fisted white-knuckled about upper arms, latched into shirt material. _

_You have no right to demand anything of me, you tiny little insignificant things!_

_Thunder rumbles, and suddenly rain is lashing down, driving down, savagely painful, stinging rain. _

"_I am demanding it!" Jim's voice raises above the rain, above the wind. Strong, powerful, a force to be reckoned with, unfailing, unbreakable. Like Jim himself, like __**them**__. "I am demanding the return of my ship! I am demanding you explain your actions! I am demanding freedom from this planet! I am demanding you stop tormenting, stop __**killing**__ the people on this planet!" _

_How __**dare you demand this**__?_

_And Jim is ripped from them. _

_It is Bones who grabs him back. _

_He grabs Jim's wrist as he is tugged away, grabs and digs in his heels- "Jim, I've got you-" and there is something fighting him, pulling at Jim, __**pulling**__, trying to tear him free of McCoy's grip. _

_Jim's skin rips with the force. _

_He will not let go. _

_And Spock's hands join his. Wrap around Jim's shoulders and pull him back with Vulcan strength, crush Jim to his chest and Spock bows, sheltering both of them with his back. _

_They pull him free. _

_As one, they stagger backwards, so hard that they hit the ground; Spock first, then Jim, with a grunt, and McCoy on top of them. Panting, he rolls off, turns to pull Jim up. His blood leaks down both of them, and he leans on Bones, jaw set. Spock staggers upright, beside them, and Jim looks front again, breathing hard. _

"_This isn't what I'd call benevolent!" He laughs into the wind, laughs into the danger, smirking, swaggering, loosing blood, swaying on his feet. Typical Jim. His eyes are intense, though, flat with hatred and anger and backed with a core of steel. "I thought you existed to __**help**__ these people, not to destroy them!"_

_They do not defy me!_

"_And yet you drive them to madness?" Bones, at his side, also straight and tall. Blue eyes are not hot and intense, like Jim, but they are calm and cold with anger, pain. Bones can not watch others suffer, has never been able to. He has been forced to do just that for days now, and he is as done with this as Jim is. "You watch as they die and pretend to grieve them?" _

_I __**do**__ grieve for them! _

"_Yes, we see just how much, when you continue to torment." Spock's voice is cool and clinical, but the look deep, deep in his eyes in pure, fiery anger. You have to know how to look for it. McCoy finds himself hoping this creature can see it. _

_You __**all**__ dare to stand against me? As one? _

_That, Bones realizes, is how they tend to do things, isn't it? Three people acting as one. Sometimes for three different perceptions of a situation, and sometimes, like now, like a unit, of one mind. Reading each other, understanding each other, knowing, defending, predicting each other. _

"_We do." Jim's grin is tight and savage. "And we will continue to." _

_And the wind stops. _

_You, a voice says, and it is suddenly gentle and soft, have passed the test, James Kirk, Leonard McCoy, Spock. _


	17. Chapter 17

I stare in shock as the barrier vanishes- we can _feel_ it vanish- and the sky overhead suddenly clears. The wind and rain stop, the mountains and forest in the distance fading into nothingness and the grass retreating to a manageable level once more. Jim lets out a low breath and his head dips; I give him a little shake, and he lifts it again, eyes slanting over to mine. They are glazed with pain and exhaustion, but he sees me, and knows me.

" 'M okay, Bones." He rasps, but he's still bleeding and has to hold onto me.

"Gentlemen." Spock's voice is calm, but holds a wary tone. When I hear him speak like that, I always think of an animal gone alert, standing unmoving but scenting, listening, ready to move in attack or defense.

We turn to look where he is, and we see Her. The form flickers like it is nothing more then a ghost. And steadily moving closer.

"We passed?" I ask numbly, as she/he/it flickers in and out of view once more. "By standing up to you we _passed_?"

She giggles behind a hand. "No." It says. "You never once faltered in your loyalty to each other. Despite horrific images, despite fears being placed on display so, your Jim Kirk did not bend under me. And when he threatened to, he had two at his side to hold him up. You learned from the tests. You grew stronger from them." She smiles- or I _think_ she smiles- and reaches out a hand to Jim. "You are a strong man." She says. "And a good one. You are _all_ good men." She turns to me, frowning slightly. "Although I _would_ have liked to see what lurked in your minds-"

"No." Jim's trembling, hand gripping my shoulder to support himself so forcefully that it hurts. But his voice reveals no trace of it. "You will leave them _alone_."

Her eyes jump to him. "You do not want to give them the opportunity to earn the reward you have?"

"I don't want your 'reward'." Jim snaps. "I want my ship back."

She inclines her head slightly. "Of course, James Kirk." It says. "Your ship will be returned to you, it and the crew unharmed and unchanged. You have earned that much."

"What about these people?" I asks. "They don't deserve what you're putting them through!"

Her eyes land on me again, and her face is soft and gentle. "There can be no reward without effort." She says quietly, searching my face, smiling at me. I don't know what she's looking for, but I think she finds it. "These people do not fear what I do."

"You killed five of them!"

"And I said I was regretful. I did not know they had been so hurt." She looks away, eyes on the sky. "Doctor, I am lonely, too. I have been alone for a very long time before these people came. I only wish them to stay with me for long years. To be healthy and strong. To face their secrets, their private wars, and to know that they can defeat them. I wish them to love me, for I have never known it. I am curious in them, in what makes them alive and who and what they are. Please don't take them from me."

I go silent, falls back a step. What am I supposed to say? Her sadness, her capacity for love, are all human, whatever she may or may not be. She nods, and looks at Jim.

"And you, James Kirk?"

"…..I can't…." Jim looks down, gathering himself. "Just let us leave." He says at last. "We're ready to go home." I don't know what he was _going_ to say, but something in his eyes speaks of confusion, of _hurt_. This is far from over.

"Of course you are. Mr. Spock, have you no word?"

Spock is watching her with a deep intensity, and he inclines his head very slightly as she addresses him.

"Your reasons for doing what you are seem largely to be justifiable." Spock says at last, and even I can't bristle at that. She's a lonely woman, even if she is not a human one, and there is such gentleness to her I can't believe she's honestly hurt anyone on purpose. She made a mistake. I've made them, too, and seen people die because of it. I can't judge her for the same thing, even in different situations. "I have no understanding of it, as I am not human. I also have no place to berate you for it. My friend and Captain is alive and unharmed, and I am being set free. If this is how these people choose to live, then it is there choice, not our own."

I look down now. No interference.

And anyway, he's _right_. For the first time in a long time, I'm in utter agreement with him.

There would be more pain brought in trying to stop this then in letting it go on.

I just want it to be over. I'm tired. My friends are hurt and tired.

I've seen enough pain to last me years on this little planet. I want to leave it behind me, in everyway I-

-well, maybe I should remember _some_ of it, I think, glancing over at where Jim holds tight to Spock and I. That feeling floods me again, that _being connected_.

I don't shy from it.

There are some parts of this I won't be _able_ to forget. And I've never been more glad of anything in my life.

"Say your goodbyes then, my friends." She says quietly, looking at each of us in turn. "And return to your ship. And doctor. Perhaps you should see Asher before you go. I thank you all. Farewell." Her smile is tender, and then she ripples, like water on a pond, and is gone.

Jim's grip eases on my shoulder, and he sinks to the grass, slowly. I let him, lowering beside him, checking the wound-not deep, just painful, already the bleeding has stopped-and Spock sits on his other side. The wind blows gently. Flower scent fills the air, subtle now, and it makes me think of a woman's perfume. In a way, I guess it is.

We sit until the sun begins to light up the horizon, casting a golden-purple-pink-red glow on everything, and when I move to get their attention, I realize Jim is asleep. His breathing is steady and deep, and he shifts gently as I move beside him, a smile curving up his lips. I look over him at Spock, who give me his _not smile_ and goes back to watching the horizon.

Together, we sit vigil over a man who has never and will never need protection.

But does need his friends.

______________________________________________________________________________

I do as she asked. On the way out of the colony, later that day. Jim has already contacted the ship-a frightened Scotty had replied, calm but clearly worried, demanding to know what had happened and where we'd been.

"We'll talk when we're back up there." He'd said, and that answer hadn't been _popular_, it had been accepted.

Already, Jim is looking, _acting_ more like himself. Back in our uniforms, with the ship safely orbiting above us, he whines obligatorily as I patch up his chest and eats like a starving man when Spock comes with breakfast. I feel the tension in my chest break apart and melt away when I see it. Jim has always been husky; never has he ever come _close_ to being fat, but he enjoys food (particularly sweets, damn it- if there was a bigger sweet tooth in the galaxy we haven't met them yet) and he's a bored eater. Usually when things are slow is when I have to harass him about his weight.

I'd rather have to do to that then watch him go off his feed. Jim not eating is a Jim there is something seriously wrong with.

We are on the way out of the colony, Spock just a step behind Jim and myself, and despite his behavior and the fact that he's eating again Jim is still quiet as we move out, not joking or laughing with us as he was on the way in. But as we pass the building I know Sparrow is being kept in, he pauses.

"Didn't she-it-" He stops, shaking his head, "tell you you should look in on them?"

"She did." I say softly, biting my lip. I know how eager Jim is to get back to the ship, to get _home_. I can't say I blame him; I'm right there myself. I'm sure Spock is, too, even if he won't admit it.

"Go." Jim says, motioning me onward. "The quicker we do this the quicker we can be _done_ with this."

And so I walk inside-

-and stare in amazement at what's there.

Sparrow, sitting up, talking quietly to Asher. She is not _better_- there is still something dark and haunted in her eyes, and when I get close her entire body seizes up and she flinches away from me. But she _sees_ me, and her lips tip up into a smile.

"Hello, doctor." She says in a rasping, low voice. Asher has tears running down his cheeks, and his hand grips her own, tightly- behind me, I feel Jim's hand on my own arm squeeze once.

"Hello, Sparrow." I say back, reaching for a chair. "Pleasure to met you at last."

And the girl laughs.


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: Wow, it's all done. Longer then I thought it'd be and shorter then it could have been; I'm happy with it either way. Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing! You are all my luffs, and I do hope to hear from you in future stories. ^_^ I'm sorry I don't address reviews one at a time- I'm a lazy lazy person- but know that each is appreciated and absolutely makes my day. **

It is dark on the ship. Even the end of the day, on the _Enterprise_, is not completely quiet; there's always a shift running, always people somewhere doing something. There are clicks and squeaks and whistles and bells, rumbles, chimes, people walking, soft voices, the occasional burst of laughter, the occasional running man or woman in a hurry to something. Far from silent, and that by itself is comforting. It _is_ darker, though, unnecessary lights off, empty rooms unlighted.

It is peaceful, like this. But utterly impossible to forget where you are. Not that I _want_ to- here is more home then anywhere else I've ever been.

Normally, I have no problem sleeping. I am not _lulled_ by the ship, the way Jim is, but no _difficulty _in sleeping, either.

Tonight is an exception.

Sleep has eluded me, which is more amusing then anything; you'd think after everything, plus sorting it all out back on the ship, having to patch up Jim- and threaten to keep him in sickbay for the remainder of his captaincy if he didn't get some proper food and some rest- and get the work done I needed to do in my own office, I'd be exhausted. And I _am_ exhausted.

But I can't sleep. And after two hours of laying there staring at the ceiling, I've gone from amused to annoyed. I shove the sheet off and swing my feet over the side of the bed, scrubbing a hand through my hair. I have any number of sleeping aids and sedatives, and if all else fails there's always good old fashioned alcohol, which I have, too. I need _something_, that's for damn sure, that will knock me on my ass.

I move to my desk, but no sooner have I dropped into the chair behind it then does my door buzz, someone wanting in. It's late- few people are going to be at my door right now, and only one will know that I'm awake. Or assume I'm awake.

"Come in." I call, and when my door slides open I'm not at all surprised to see Jim.

I _am_ surprised to see who's behind him.

"Well Spock, welcome to the party." I drawl, smirking a little. The pity party, maybe. This won't be the first time after a hard situation Jim's dropped by my room. I know what to expect by now. In it's own, somewhat pathetic way, this is comforting, too.

"He was having sleep deprivation issues, too." Jim jerks his thumb at Spock, perching on the edge of my desk.

"Well, I think I have a cure for that." I wink and Jim laughs, but Spock only lifts a brow as I move to the cabinet, pulling out the little bottle of whisky hidden there. I half except him to berate me for having it, but he only watches silently as I prepare a glass for Jim and myself. He's noticing that this is a familiar routine. He refuses the glass I offer him, and takes a seat in a chair opposite me.

"So what's on your minds, my friends?" I ask, watching Jim fiddle with his glass. His lip's firmly between his teeth and his eyes are a million miles away. I lean forward to snap my fingers near his face, and he blinks, refocusing.

"Sorry, Bones." He mutters. "I was-I guess my mind won't get as tired as my body wants to be." He grins lopsidedly in that boyish smirk he has, the charming sweet-as-sugar grin that's won over so many ladies.

"You can't stop thinking about it either, hu?"

He shakes his head 'no'. "Spock neither." He gives Spock's chair a gentle kick. Spock sends him a mildly reproving look. I fall back on my brother metaphor, feeling like the oldest in a trio of siblings.

"It's strange- we've been through hard cases before." I muse. "Don't usually seem to make such an impact on us."

"To be fair, those situations usually close fairly neatly." Spock points out, eyeing my desk. "And humans seem to have an inherent need for 'closure'."

Amusement and irritation spike in me. I set my glass down-gently-and lean on the desk. "We do, do we?" I drawl, letting my accent linger over the words. "Then that explains Jim's and my deviation from a good night's rest for a late night chat, but what about you, Spock?"

He meets my eyes, just as serious as I am. "Logically, there is no need for this to drag on any further. That planet and those people are well behind us."

"But?" I ask, sitting back again. I can hear the 'but'.

"The Captain and yourself seem unable to let go of the circumstances we encountered there. I was a part of that. Therefore, I am necessary here, as well. Beyond which, I must say, there are a good many unanswered questions I have of my own."

"That's Vulcan for 'you needed closure, too'." I mutter. Unanswered questions was the polite way of phrasing it.

And to my surprise, he inclines his head, just slightly, just _barely_.

I nearly spill my drink. Jim laughs, but there's only a touch of real humor in it. It dies all too soon, leaving him with a small smile and a sad, soft look in his eyes. He sips the drink.

"What were you going to say to her?" I surprise myself by asking. But Jim's quiet _I can't….._to the entity we'd seen, spoken to, has been bugging me all day. Besides, someone has to get this show going. Otherwise we will all sit here and pussyfoot around until they get up and leave.

Jim doesn't look at me. He runs a finger along his glass, tips back in his seat, but _will not_ look at me. "Spock said it best." He says at last, voice low. "But she-what I saw, what I experienced there-" He sets the drink down. "I couldn't punish her. Because she's _right_, Bones."

"Right?" I echo, setting my own drink down. "About _what_, can I ask?"

"About needing to see that." He lowers his head to his chest. "There was so much….so much up here." He motions to his head, his eyes dancing good-naturedly. "It chased itself in circles, Bones. Like a dog chasing it's tail." He laughs,this time utterly without humor. "Seeing it like that-made me _know_ some things I didn't before. Or maybe I knew them all along and just couldn't see it. People can tell you things a hundered times and sometimes it takes finding it out for yourself to make it stick. You should know that."

I _do_ know that. The first time someone dies in front of you, the first time you realize there will be men and women you can't save, the first time you deal with a hopeless situation, the first time you arrive just a split second too late- so many people try to comfort you during those times. But until you can realize it yourself, it's not _real_ to you. You have to come to terms with certain things on your own.

"You agree with what that place- that woman-is doing, Captain?" Spock asks, arms folded across his chest and head tipped. That could have him seeing red or with a total lack of care one way or the other. I can't tell from his face. Even his eyes-usually the only readable feature about him-show only curiosity and intrest.

"No." He says. "And yes. She's doing it for selfish reasons. Whatever, _whoever_ she is, she's doing it because she wants people, _humans_ around her for years to come. But she's doing it for them, too. And the reward, her gift of longevity, of nearly perfect health….." He shrugs, smirks a little.

"Sometimes, I guess, it isn't our place to say." I say slowly, trying the words out. I don't like not getting involved, particularly when I think people are being wronged, or treated this situation, these people, were….different, somehow. I think even if we _had _tried to stop her, we would have failed short of blowing up the planet. And those colonists would never allow it. "And she was never, as far as I can tell, truly malicious."

"Sparrow, at least, seemed to be recovering." Jim agrees.

"She may become like Rayne." Spock says. "Seem only mildly insane, and then kill herself."

"She might." I agree slowly, the reminder of Rayne making me flinch back. I close my eyes at the unexpected pain. "She might not, too. Don't underestimate the _human_ spirit, Spock. We're a resliant bunch. For all your loathing of human passions, sometimes they're very good for us."

"And many times they are not. We've had a conversation similar to this before, Doctor." Spock says calmly, quietly. I feel my hackles lift, but Jim is holding up a hand, leaning forward.

"Not now, children, please?" He asks softly, and the usual teasing is in his voice, but there's something else, too, a wearyness that stops us cold.

"Sorry, Jim." I say quietly, as he presses his fingers into his eyes. "Look, maybe you two should try to get some sleep after all."

"We're not done here."

Jim's voice is cool steel, laced with purring amusment. He sets his drink down, eyes dancing with the affection he can't hide. "What you two saw-that was the worst of it." He says. "The part I only told you about, it wasn't-" His lips thin slightly. "Spock." He says, rerouting how he's going to go about this. He's not comfortable exposing his vulnerability, never has been. I'm one of the only people who has ever seen it, and it breaks my heart every time he reminds me unintentionally how _young_ he is. Thirty four; not a child any longer, so damn young all the same. "I didn't know you could do that."

"It is not something done lightly, as I explained to Doctor McCoy." Spock says quietly, meeting my eyes across the table. I wonder if Jim feels the same brillant _spark_ of connection that I do, now that I've stopped shying from it. "Very personal, very intament, and the only way we could reach you."

"You were hurting yourself, Jim." I say.

"I didn't say I was upset by it." Jim muses, chewing lightly at his thumb. "But I _have_ noticed something's…..different….about you two."

"Different?" I ask.

"All innocence, aren't you, Bones?" He drawls, proping his chin on his palm. "And you say _I_ have puppy dog eyes."

"You do." I grumble. He _does_.

"It is possible that a change in perception can occur from a connection so strong." To my surprise, it's _Spock_ that points it out. "Impressions may….linger…depending on how long the connection was held."

"That explains it then." Jim says softly, looking at us. "_If_ you two feel the same….the _same_-" He motions helplessly with a hand.

"Spark?" I offer, and Spock raises a brow at me.

"Spark?" He echos, leaning back.

"Spark." Jim says the word with finality, slapping the table. "That's what it is."

The moment is so absurd that I feel myself snort with laughter, and that makes _Jim_ snort, and soon we are laughing helplessly, a release of tension and fear, laughing because it feels good to laugh, laughing with affection, laughing so hard we can't _breath_. Spock watches us like a tolerant parent, his eyebrows up, amusment flashing in his brown eyes, deep down where you have to look hard. I feel a momentary sadness that he can't or won't laugh, too; won't join in the sheer joy of laughing for laughing's sake. I've heard his laugh, under forced circumstances. While I'd rather have never heard it then see him _forced_ to laugh, the sound was pleasant and warm, the kind of laughter you want to laugh along with. I'm sad that I don't hear it of his own free will, sad that he will never known this bond, this laughter and freeness and _release_.

But when I lift my head, I realize for the second time how wrong I am about Spock. Because there's that _just so_ tilt of the head, the _not smile_, the eyes glinting, the relaxed, comfortable posture.

He's laughing.

He's _very much _laughing with us.

You just have to know how to look.

I think now I do.


End file.
